


Lighthouse Tales Remastered

by Freezair



Category: Beyond Good and Evil
Genre: Double H would be a good dad, Fluff, Gen, Happy, Uncle H, WAFF, parental substitutes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-04-18 23:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14224158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freezair/pseuds/Freezair
Summary: The DomZ menace has been repelled and Hillys is saved! But the Southern Lighthouse Shelter still lies in ruins, and for the six orphan children who live there, it's the only home they have left.Luckily for them, they have someone new to look after them: Double H, the stalwart soldier with a proverbial heart of gold. Through the chaos of the rebuilding, they'll each bond with him in their own way.These seven shorts were originally uploaded on DeviantArt in 2010. Now, in 2018, I've decided to re-upload them with new edits to make them even better!





	1. Princesses and Firemen

**Author's Note:**

> Way back in 2010/2011, I wrote a series of short fanfics for the Beyond Good and Evil fanclub on DeviantArt. These stories involved Double H befriending the six children of the Lighthouse Shelter, and they became reasonably popular within the game's small fandom. 
> 
> Now, seven years later, I've decided to upload them to AO3 with a brand-new coat of paint! They haven't changed too much, but I went through them and cleaned up some sloppy old prose, toned down some of my overwriting, and generally fixed up things I wasn't happy with. Hence "Remastered"--they're the same stories some of you fandom oldtimers remember, but now in HD! 
> 
> If you've read these stories before: Thank you, and I'm flattered you decided to revisit them! I hope you enjoy the changes. Even if you don't, the originals are still up on DeviantArt, and I don't plan on taking them down any time soon. 
> 
> If this is your first time reading them: Enjoy! To this day, Double H is quite possibly my favorite video game character ever, and it makes me happy that others love that big lunk as much as I do. 
> 
> And who knows? Maybe I'll finally get around to writing that endcap story with him and Jade...

The wind was so strong, the rain went sideways; it rattled the tarps and they picked up whenever the thunder went silent.

 

Jade sighed into her mug of tea. She stared up at the ceiling from her nook by the fire, watching the canvas she couldn’t see shaking in the night wind. The low, hissing voice from the radio dissolved into static with every bolt of lightning. But the voice fought back through the popping and crackling, warning her about the weather she already knew about.

 

She felt a surge of body heat beside her. She turned her head slowly and found herself staring directly into the thick torso of her partner, wrapped up in an old gray bathrobe they’d managed to salvage from the depths of one of the first-floor closets.

 

She glanced up to meet him in the face. He looked just as unsettled as she felt. “Hey, Double H,” she said. “You need something?”

 

“Just checking to see that you’re all right, Miss Jade,” he said with a nod. His slightly weary-looking eyes followed hers and drifted up to the ceiling. “I’m somewhat worried about—“

 

“The repairs?” Jade shrugged. “Me too. I hope they hold out until this storm breaks. It’d be terrible if the contractors had to start all over. But what can we do?”

 

“Not to mention, it’d be a waste of all that money the Governor so kindly donated to the shelter,” Double H said. “I realize that she’s doing this as a charity service for you, but we wouldn’t want to impose…”

 

“Sheesh. And I still feel like _we_ owe _her,”_ Jade huffed. With a chuckle, she added, “Makes me feel worse about not voting last election…”

 

“Is there any more of that tea left?” Double H asked. He looked at the old-fashioned tea kettle hanging above the small fire. “Maybe a nice, hot cup of tea will help me get to sleep. I certainly could use it, on a dreadful night like this…”

 

“I only made one cup, but there’s still water in the pot, and some tea bags in the cupboard,” Jade said. She pointed to the kitchen alcove across the room from her. “Meï brought a whole bunch of food after we did cleanup the first day back. There’s something like ten different kinds of tea. And coffee, but I’m thinking that’ll have the _opposite_ effect of what you’re looking for.” She smiled. “Have any kind you like.”

 

“Thank you,” Double H said with a smile.

 

A thought leapt into Jade’s eyes. “Oh! Could you do me a favor while you’re up and about? It’s kind of… well, though.” She looked at the dark doorway beyond the fire, shuddering with rain.

 

“Certainly,” Double H replied. He was rummaging around in the various cupboards above the sink, looking for the tea she’d mentioned. He set several dusty-looking canisters down on the countertop, and various boxes clunked around as he poked through them.

 

“Could you go down to the hangar and make sure the kids are OK? I’m a little worried some of them might be frightened by the storm. Even Fehn, and he usually finds this kind of thing exciting!” She laughed and took a sip of her tea. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a storm this bad. And the kids feel so safe when you’re around.” A peaceful smile crossed her face, and her breath delicately moved the steam from her tea. “They really admire you, y’know.”  

 

Double H gave a somewhat bashful grin, just as he pulled out a small, wooden box with a leaf painted onto the lid. He flicked his fingers around inside, looking at the labels on all of the tea packets. “Well, I certainly do try,” he said, his voice giddy. “After all, a Hillyan soldier is an icon of strength and… stability. Carlson and Peeters, introductory page Roman numeral iii.” He took a small orange packet from the box and snapped it shut. He moved the box and all the other things he’d pulled down back into their shelf; a small cylinder of some kind of spice fell out and hit him on the head.

 

Jade tried to suppress her laugh as Double H rubbed the lump on his head. _For all his tough exterior, he’s remarkably blobby on the inside,_ she thought. She hoped she wasn’t grinning too widely.

 

“So will you do it? I mean, you would have to walk in… _that,_ ” she asked.

 

“Of course. Think nothing of it,” he said. He maneuvered over to another cupboard, this time looking for a mug. “Is the door down to the hanger locked?”

 

“Shouldn’t be,” Jade said. She looked into her tea, as if giving it deep thought. Double H had managed to get out a mug of his own without getting hit on the head again, and he sat down beside her. He wrapped a slightly singed rag around the teapot’s handle, pulled out the kettle, and poured boiling water into his mug. He breathed deeply as he set the tea bag into the water, and the sweet, orange-scented steam wafted up into his face.

 

He leaned his head against the wall near the small fireplace; he could just peek around the wall to look Jade in the face. She grinned at him, as if to wave.

 

She downed the last of her tea. “Hey, thanks,” she said, setting her mug aside. “Be careful out there, though. It’s nasty out. I know it’s a short walk, but…”

 

“I’ll be keeping my eyes open and my feet firmly on the ground,” Double H said. He took a deep swig of his tea. He winced as it burned his tongue. “But I appreciate your concern, Miss Jade.”

 

They sat in affable silence, Double H blowing on his tea to try and cool it off, and Jade sinking into the half-static of the radio. The voice of the meteorologist on the other end explicitly warned against going out that night. Her eyes flicked to the top of Double H’s head, but he seemed composed.

 

He swallowed heavily, tossing the rest of the tea down with one enormous gulp. He gave a satisfied sigh. “Now, let’s hope that keeps me warm enough out there.” He looked toward the door. A chill breeze invaded; only the fire kept it back. The ground around the threshold was slick with water, sinking down through cracks in the boards covering up the hole there.

 

“You want a poncho?”

 

“I’ll be fine,” he said as he stood.

 

“You’re going to get sopping wet,” she chuckled.

 

Double H said nothing, but his grin was visible from the side of his face.

 

Jade shook her head. “You,” she said simply. “Don’t go catching pneumonia on me.”

 

He laughed as he slipped out the door.

 

 

 

The rain cut into him almost immediately. The wind threw up the old robe Jade had leant him, and the freezing rain sliced into his legs. The thick, absorbent cloth drunk up the storm and clung to his shoulders. He threw his arms over himself and shivered; his teeth chattered. He took a few tentative steps forward, the cold grass sticking into his bare feet. _Bad idea,_ he thought at himself. He took a deep breath and ran for the door set into the rock face in front of him.

 

“No weather, no matter how foul, shall… No, that’s not how it goes… Neither rain nor snow—wait, that’s not… Oh, forget it!” The storm heads thundered above as if in agreement. He came to a squishy stop in front of the door and jabbed at the button keeping it closed, pulling his soaking robe closer while he waited for the door to take its precious time to open. He dashed inside, hitting the close switch on the other side with his hip. He breathed a tiny, frigid breath and shook himself like a dog.

 

Thankfully, it looked as though someone had set an extra blanket by the door. He tossed off the sopping old robe, stood there in the threshold in his undershirt and boxers while he waited to drip-dry, and decided to get rid of the undershirt too to speed up the process. He flung the light shirt aside while he picked up the blanket.

 

As it fell open, he noticed the large, fist-sized hole torn near the center of the blanket. He made a face, but figured it would be warm enough besides. He threw it over his shoulders and drunk up its warmth.

 

Hair dripping into his eyes, he walked down the mud-slicked slope into the hangar.

 

He hummed pleasantly as the heat crept up to him. Several radiant heaters had been set up on the floor to help drive off the chill in the sea cave, and the children’s sleeping bags were set up around them. The children were curled up tightly inside the heavy sacks, their arms splayed out with their faces turned toward the heat. Their chests fluttered gently with delicate, sleeping breaths.

 

From another room, someone else’s snoring shook the walls.

 

_That would be Pey’j,_ he thought. _He_ would _sleep in his workshop. Though… I suppose someone does have to stay here, for the kids’ sake._

Outside, a boisterous clap of thunder shook the walls of the hangar.

 

There was a small gasp.

 

Double H’s eyes suddenly went alert. He looked around at the forms of the sleeping children. Over in the corner, the smallest body squirmed uneasily beneath her blankets. The fingers of one hand peeked out over the edge of the sleeping bag.

 

Double H stepped gingerly over the sleeping bodies of Oumi and Pablo, tiptoeing over to her side. “Zaza?”

 

The little girl’s shaggy red head poked out of the green sleeping bag. “Uncle H?” she asked. “What are you doing in here?”

 

“Coming to check up on you kids,” he said. “Are you OK?”

 

“I’m fine,” Zaza said meekly. She started to slip back into her sleeping bag. Then: “Uncle H! You’re all wet!”

 

Her words reverberated inside the hangar. Double H shushed her; she looked sheepishl. “Everyone else is sleeping, remember,” he whispered.

 

Another lightning bolt banged outside. Zaza gasped and jerked her extra blanket over her head.

 

He knelt down beside her. “Do you not like the lightning?” he asked.

 

Zaza looked at his hairy legs and frowned at him. Her mouth crimped.

 

“…Zaza?”

 

The little girl nuzzled her face into the corner of her sleeping bag. “The nightmares are bad enough…”

 

“Oh,” he said. He frowned. “Do you get nightmares very often?”

 

Zaza curled the silky hem of the blanket under her arm, brushing it thoughtfully. “…Not as much as I used to. The DomZ are all gone now…”

 

“Yes they are,” he said comfortingly. “For the most part, anyway. You certainly won’t be seeing meteors ever again. Nor the Sarcophagi.”

 

“I don’t like them,” she murmured into her sleeping bag. “I don’t like the loud noises. I don’t like the noise, or the funny sky, or the nightmares, or the big, sharp claws, or the way the people inside them get all funny-eyed and they can’t get out and even though you try to yell to them you _can’t;_ they can’t even hear you or remember or— _Hhhhhnn!”_ A sudden thunder-burst cut off her increasingly frantic thoughts and she darted back for the warm safety of her blankets.

 

Only the top of her head stuck out. Double H hushed her again, putting his hand to her hair. “It’s OK,” he said. “The good thing about nightmares is that you wake up from them. And this storm, like any other, will pass. You already look rather cozy,” he said, smiling gently, “so try to relax, and know that the night will be over and tomorrow will have arrived before you know it.”

 

She silently let him tousle her hair, bit by bit peeling back the edge of her sleeping bag until her chin dangled out into the open. Then she hooked her arm out over the side and scooped a corner of the blanket up into her arms.

 

“…But if the nightmares really happened, then you can’t forget about them,” Zaza whimpered.

 

Double H frowned. “No,” he said with a sigh. “And I am of the opinion that you are too young to have to deal with such an unfortunate condition. Many of my comrades-in-arms back in the army fell prey to it, or something similar… having horrible flashbacks to things that befell _their_ comrades, and even their enemies, from time to time. There are things that _I_ won’t forget, what our dear Jade saved me from being one of them. But perhaps being young is an advantage to you. You have much more time to heal. I’m afraid you can’t forget, no. Maybe, however, you can learn to accept the things that have happened, and move on.”

 

Zaza did not reply, but she reached out and patted the top of his knee.

 

Double H clicked his throat. He asked, “Will you be OK for the night?”   

 

She said, “Will you sit with me for a little bit?”

 

“Certainly,” he replied. He pulled his legs back and sat, cross-legged, next to her sleeping bag. She smiled faintly.

 

“…Is there anything I can do to help you?” he asked.

 

Zaza looked up at his face. “Are you any good at telling bedtime stories?”

 

“Hmm. Maybe. I’ve told my nieces a few,” he said. “They’re probably not very interesting, though. I only really know the old fairy tales. And I’m sure you know all those by heart.”

 

Zaza sat up. “I don’t care if it’s interesting if it ends Happily Ever After. I just want to go to sleep with… happy thoughts. Like in _Peter Pan_. You could make up a story,” she suggested.

 

“I’ve never really tried making up a story before,” he said with a shrug.

 

“Well, how do you know if you’re any good if you’ve never tried?”

 

Double H cradled his chin and gave his stubble a scratch. “I suppose you’re right,” he admitted. “Very well. What kind of story should I try making up, then?”

 

“Oh, you know… the usual…”

 

“The usual?”

 

“Princesses, magic spells, castles, dragons… that kind of thing,” she said. “You know. Happily Ever After.”

 

“OK,” he nodded. “Well. Ah. Once upon a time, there was a princess who lived in a castle, and her name was… Princess Rosemary.”

 

Zaza listened, her head cocked to one side, and then nodded. “That’s a good princess name,” she said.

 

Double H smiled. “And she lived in the castle with her mother and father, the King and Queen, and her little brothers, the Princes Eric and—Joey, and her pet dragon—“

 

“—Woof.”

 

Double H chuckled. “You know, Zaza, I don’t think dragons really go ‘woof.’ I think they go more like ‘roar.’”

 

“But I _like_ Woof,” she said.

 

“Well, I like Woof too, but I don’t know if it’s a good name for a dragon.”

 

“Fine. We’ll call him Rory, then,” Zaza said.

 

Double H nodded and continued. “And her pet dragon, Rory. And, also in the kingdom, there lived a—“

 

“—Wait a minute,” Zaza interrupted again. “Are you gonna say, ‘a handsome knight?’”

 

“Well, I was _planning_ on it, yes.”

 

“Princesses _always_ fall in love with knights,” Zaza complained.

 

“How did you know I was going to make him fall in love with the princess?”

 

“Because that _always_ happens,” she sighed. “Can’t the princess fall for someone _else_ for once?”

 

“Like who?”

 

“Like, I dunno… Someone else really brave. Like a fireman or something.”

 

“OK,” Double H said. “Also in the kingdom, there lived a brave, handsome fireman named—“

 

“Double H!” Zaza said exuberantly.

 

“Wha—? Ah, Zaza, I’m not exactly a—“

 

“Well, you’re going to make him fall in love with the princess, right?”

 

“Yes…”

 

“Well, _I_ think you deserve a princess, Uncle H.”

 

Double H blushed. It was rare for him to do so, but he did. “That’s very sweet of you, Zaza, but princesses aren’t really my type. I don’t particularly like pink, and I would rather fight the hideous beast alongside her than rescue her from it. A strong, brave lady knight, now— _that_ would be a different story!”

 

Zaza giggled to herself. “Oh. That’s right. _I forgot.”_

Double H gave her a confused look. “Forgot _what?”_

In a singsong voice, she said, “Ooooh, _nooothinggg…”_

Double H sighed. “Moving on. In this particular kingdom, there lived the brave, handsome fireman named—“

 

“Kip.”

 

“Kip, now?”

 

“I like Kip too,” she said. “He’s always nice to me. I think he should fall in love with the princess.”

 

“Alright. There’s a brave fireman named Kip. May I go on now?”

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

“Well. One day, it was Princess Rosemary’s birthday, and everyone was gathering in the castle courtyard to throw her a party. All of the Princess’s friends from all over the kingdom were invited, and there was music, and dancing, and lots of food. In fact, the King was working with every chef in the castle to prepare her enormous birthday feast.”

 

“What were they eating?” Zaza asked innocently.

 

“Come again?”

 

“What was her birthday feast made of?”

 

“…Is it important?”

 

“I’m curious,” she said.

 

Double H looked thoughtful. “There were pizzas, and ice cream, and hamburgers—“

 

“And veggie burgers for the vegetarians,” Zaza added. “Don’t forget them. It’s not fair if they can’t have something to eat too.”

 

Truthfully, Double H was a carnivore to the core, and he’d never particularly liked artificial anything. Having subsisted entirely on K-Bups for the past two months hadn’t helped. But her thoughtfulness warmed him all throughout his chest. Even in a story, Zaza wouldn’t let anyone go hungry. “Very well then! There were plenty of veggie burgers. And, since this _is_ a birthday party after all, there was a cake as high as the sky, with strawberry icing, and red roses made out of frosting, and a topper shaped like the Princess herself.”

 

Zaza smiled. “Now _that_ is a good cake for a Princess. Oh! But it was green, too. Because green was Princess Rosemary’s favorite color.”

 

“Isn’t green also _your_ favorite color, Zaza?” Double H asked mock-accusingly.

 

“It’s Jade’s too,” Zaza said. She tugged her blanket up in front of her like a shield. “It’s a _good_ color.”

 

Double H nodded at her with his lips pursed in agreement. Then he continued. “Princess Rosemary was very nervous, because she had been waiting for a very long time for her dear friend, Fireman Kip, to show up—“

 

“ _No!”_ Zaza cut in. “Uncle H! That’s all _wrong!_ They gotta meet and fall in Love At First Sight first!”

 

Double H scratched his head. “I don’t know if I can do romance very well, Zaza.”

 

“’Suddenly, Fireman Kip saw the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, and he fell in Love At First Sight,’” Zaza intoned. “See? Easy!”

 

“Alright,” Double H said. “Now, hold on. Errm… How about this. Princess Rosemany was very worried, because poor Rory was sick for the party. He had a cold, you see. He was still there, of course, but he was carrying tissues around, for his sniffles, and he couldn’t dance or play or taste the delicious birthday cake.”

 

“Poor Rory,” Zaza lamented.

 

He took that as an approval. “Now, there were a lot of people at the party, and they were all dancing and kicking up a lot of dust,” Double H said. “And all the dust was tickling Rory’s nose. He was already very stuffed up, of course, so it was even worse. And even though he tried to hold it in, he couldn’t help himself—he sneezed!”

 

_“Achoo!”_ Zaza added.

 

“And an enormous jet of flame shot out of his mouth!”

 

Zaza gasped appropriately. “And then Fireman Kip came and—“

 

“Yes, he will!” Double H said hurriedly. “But! I haven’t gotten there yet, Zaza. You’ll have to be patient.”

 

Zaza pulled her blanket up to her lap, squirming excitedly.

 

“Now. As for the fire. Luckily, it didn’t hurt anyone, because they were all off dancing somewhere else.”

 

“You just said the dust was because they were dancing!“

 

“Uh… he aimed his head a different direction, then. _But._ The fire still caught on some hay in part of the courtyard, and the fire alarms in the castle went off. So everyone had to get out of the courtyard and head outside. Luckily, they’d all practiced fire drills beforehand, so—“

 

“Do we _have_ to have a moral?”

 

Double H sighed. “I suppose not. I suppose that would have been very ham-fisted, wouldn’t it? Perhaps it’s better to leave it be. At any rate. They all left, except for the Princess, who stayed behind to make sure that everyone safely evacuated the castle. And she called the fire department. And _now_ Fireman Kip got the call, and rushed over on his fire truck—“

 

Zaza gave an exasperated sigh. “Uncle H! You can’t have _fire trucks_ in a _princess_ story!”

 

“Well, how does he go to fires, then?”

 

“A carriage drawn by dragons! But the kind that breathe water instead of fire, so they can put the fires out!”

 

“OK. He rushed over with his carriage pulled by dragons. By that time, the fire had spread, and although the Princess had helped everyone get out, she was still stuck in the castle herself! In the tallest tower, in fact.”

 

Zaza grinned impishly. “The tallest tower? See, Uncle H, you _are_ good at princess stories. That’s _exactly_ how they’re supposed to go!”

 

Trying not to look too proud, he continued, “So Fireman Kip got on the back of his biggest, strongest, water-spitting dragon and they flew up together to rescue her.”

 

_“Ooooh!”_

 

“The dragon sprayed water on the fire, putting it out. Kip stuck his hand out for Princess—“

 

“—Yoa.”

 

“Zaza, I thought we agreed that her name was Princess Rosemary.”

 

“I changed my mind,” she said matter-of-factly. “’Cuz I like Yoa too, and I think she deserves a handsome fireman.”

 

“Kip?”

 

“Well, maybe when they grow up…”

 

Double H sighed. “Alright. So Fireman Kip stuck his hand out for Princess— _Yoa,_ and she grabbed it and leapt onto the back of the dragon.”

 

“Aaaaand?”

 

“…And what?”

 

“Love At—?”

 

“Oh! Right! And she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, and he fell in Love At First Sight. Is that how I’m supposed to do it?”

 

“ _Perfect.”_

 

 “Ha ha! Maybe I am good at this,” he chuckled. “Well! They flew around the castle together, putting out all of the remaining fires. They landed back where everyone was waiting for them, but Princess Yoa and Fireman Kip couldn’t stop staring at one another. They were smitten with one another. Unfortunately, the fire had destroyed Princess Yoa’s beautiful cake—“

 

“—Oh no!”

 

“—But the royal cooks were already getting out everything they needed to make enough strawberry cupcakes to feed everyone. Princess Yoa asked Fireman Kip to come to her birthday party, and he accepted.”

 

“And they lived Happily Ever After!” Zaza said excitedly.

 

“Zaza, I wasn’t done yet.”

 

“But that’s a good place to stop, right?”

 

“Well, I suppose so,” Double H said. “But don’t you want to know what Kip got Yoa for her birthday?”

 

“Oooh! What?”

 

“A baby dragon that was white with black spots,” he said. “So Rory would have someone to play with.”

 

“That’s a good gift,” Zaza said smiling. “Birthday presents make good Happily Ever Afters.”  

 

Double H yawned, pulling his own blanket tighter around himself. “Did I help any, Zaza?”

 

“It did,” Zaza nodded. “That was a really nice story, Uncle H.”

 

“Thank you very much,” he said. He yawned again. “Goodness, I’m sleepy.”

 

“Me too,” Zaza said. “I think I can sleep now, Uncle H. I bet I’ll have good dreams. Thanks for staying with me for a while.”

 

“You’re welcome, Zaza.” He smiled down at the little girl and ruffled her hair once more. “Sleep tight. No more nightmares. Now, I’m going to… Go cross that awful storm again, go back to the lighthouse, and get some sleep,” he sighed.

 

He stepped over Pablo and Oumi again, heading for the door. In his workshop, Pey’j let off another gargantuan snore.

 

On the floor, someone huffed softly: “Hey, Uncle H?”

 

Double H turned around. “Yes, Fehn?”

 

“Will you tell me a story, too?”

 

Double H groaned. “Yes, Fehn,” he said, face in hand. “I will…”


	2. Spoiling the Broth

Double H’s eyes blinked rustily in the morning light.

 

                He squirmed upright, trying to worm his arms out of the sleeping bag. He was disoriented and slightly limp from sleep; it was more difficult than it seemed. He shoved against the floor of the kitchen and brought his eyes level with the kitchen countertop.

 

                The sun through the porthole windows was still diffuse and gray. Sitting still on the floor, he heard the sound of rain pattering on the tarp.

 

                Last night, it had been vicious and angry, almost as if it were in pain. Now, however, it sounded soothed and becalmed. Whatever had been upsetting the heavens last night seemed to have gone away.

 

                He wiggled his way out of the sleeping bag like a worm and stretched out with a yawn. An icy breeze from the door bit his shoulders and made him realize he was still damp from his two jaunts out in the rain the night before. He plucked at the light shirt draped over his shoulders, frowning. The wind pushed the smell of grass and fresh mud into the bottom floor of the half-reconstructed lighthouse and he looked around, his eyes still smudgy at the edges. He peered toward the twisty hallway leading outside, trying to catch a sliver of the outdoors—his usual routine in the morning was to head outside and do a few exercises, but with the current rain (and the probable soupy state of the ground outside), staying in might be called for. He turned back to the interior.

 

                Across from the kitchen countertop, Jade slept snugly in the small, safe nook by the tiny fireplace, her black hair falling in front of her face. Her old red quilt puffed gently with her breath, and there was a thick pucker by her head where, underneath, her hand clasped the blanket around her. She was nuzzled into the cranny as perfectly a kitten curled up in the exact center of a deep, soft pillow. Double H smiled—no person so comfortable should ever have to be awakened without a serious reason. Not even Carlson and Peeters’s own exercise regime was serious enough.

 

                Well, it was only a little rain. It might feel refreshing.

 

                Double H slipped his feet into the pair of muddy, brown work boots lingering near the potbellied stove. The first time he’d taken off his armor in front of Jade, she’d seem surprised that he wore normal shoes between his feet and his greaves. But as he’d told her, even with calloused feet like his, wearing metal boots with only socks for protection was a good way to get blisters, bunions, and bruises—and besides, extra layers of padding kept them on snugly. He peeled off his moist sleep shirt, slipped on his thick, wooly brown tunic to ward off the rain, and, making sure his bootstraps were fastened, made his way out into the drizzly morning.

 

                The clouds seemed to have exhausted themselves the night before. The rain fell briskly but gently on his face and neck, a sprinkle that would evaporate before it hit the ground if it got any softer. The boarding over the hole in the ground (recently reinforced by the governor’s contractors) creaked damply as he crossed it, and the ground sloshed beneath his feet. He breathed in the sweet, refreshing smell of rain and ocean, stretching his arms in time with his breaths.

 

                The rain wasn’t bad, he decided. But he slid his feet back and forth over the grass with disapproval. The ground was too wet and sloppy for doing push-ups or sit-ups or anything-else-ups, and too slippery for jumping jacks or jogging. He could do a few simple stretches, he decided, but those would probably be better off done in the hall inside. Hopefully, he could do them quietly.

 

                As he turned back toward the door, he heard the sound of the door to the hangar grinding open.

 

                He looked behind him. As the door slid open, he saw Oumi standing at the top of the stairwell, dressed in the same overlarge red sweatshirt he usually saw her in during the day. Nonchalant at the gray weather, she strutted straight out into the green, the rain quickly plastering her bangs to the front of her face.

 

                “Mornin’, Uncle H,” she said, ordinary as could be.

 

                “Oumi? What are you doing out of the hangar? It’s rather wet and rainy out. What do you need up here?”

 

                “Because. It’s hot and muggy in there and Pey’j snores and Fehn got all wet last night and he still smells funny,” she yawned. “I wanted to see how things were out here. Still rainy, huh.—Hey, did I have a really weird dream, or were you down in the hangar last night?”

 

                “I was,” he admitted with a nod. “My apologies if I woke you.”

 

                “Naah. The storm was pretty bad. I woke up a couple of times. Why’d you come down to the hangar when you coulda been all nice and warm in the lighthouse?”

 

                “Jade asked me to come check up on you kids,” he replied. “I did. I ended up sitting with Zaza and Fehn for a while. Zaza was frightened, but Fehn just wanted me to tell him a bedtime story. _Then_ I came back to be all nice and warm in the lighthouse.” She chuckled. “I dried off in front of the fire before I went to bed. Despite the waking up, did you sleep well otherwise?”

 

                “Yep,” Oumi nodded. “Pretty good. Did you?”

 

                “Well… In all honesty, a bit jumpily. We soldiers tend not to sleep too deeply, you know. If there’s an attack in the middle of the night, you have to be up and ready to defend yourself in seconds flat. You have to keep the proverbial one eye open!”

 

                “But, Uncle H,” Oumi said, “you don’t have to here! It’s perfectly safe! We’ve got the shield to protect us from the Vorax, and there’s no DomZ any more, so you can sleep as deep as you want.”

 

                “I know,” he confessed. “But some habits are hard to break. I can sleep quite deeply when I need to. But loud noises always tend to put me back on edge…”

 

                _“BOO!”_

 

                “However, Jade, I know that that’s you, so don’t try to scare me.”

 

                Jade froze in the middle of a pouncing stance, her hands curved above Double H’s shoulders and one foot halfway up from the ground. She sighed and returned to her normal position. “You’re just no fun at all. Morning, Oumi. What’re you doing up?”

 

                Double H answered for her. “She says she wanted a little fresh air.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “I have to admit—good clean rain, an ocean breeze—doesn’t get much fresher.” He pounded his chest with a hearty thump. “—I didn’t wake you up, did I, Miss Jade?”

 

                “No, I got up on my own. I figured you went out to do your exercises. Not a very good day for ‘em, huh?”

               

                “Nope! It’s a day for staying inside and reading a book,” Oumi chirped.

 

                “Well, Oumi, I think I may just take you up on that. I guess I can go indoors and do a few stretches, but—I’ll have to hold off on the run around the island. I’d rather not slip.”

 

                Jade smiled. “It’s my turn to go check on how the other kids and Pey’j are doing, so—see you in a few.”

 

                “ _And_ Uncle Pey’j?” Oumi asked. “Isn’t he big enough to check on himself?”

 

                “Yeah,” Jade giggled, “but he looked kinda sick the other day. I figure I’ll ask him how he’s feelin’. You guys _might_ wanna head back inside—feels like the rain’s picking up a little.”

 

                Double H honestly couldn’t feel any difference, but, given the choice, he preferred “dry” to “wet.” He nudged past Jade and into the hall doorway. “Come along, Oumi. Unless you want to stay outside where it’s raining, of course.”

 

                “Nooo thank you!” She leapt into step beside him as he headed back in.

 

                “Think they’ll be done with the repairs soon, Uncle H?”

 

                He looked up at the ceiling. “According to the last reports the contractors gave us, they should have the second floor fixed soon. Within the week, potentially, though I don’t know how the weather will affect it. The actual light and the shield generator will probably take longer.—Ah-ha! So you _don’t_ actually have the shield to stop the Vorax. I _did_ have reason to be jumpy last night. If a Vorax attacked, I would have had to defend you!”

 

                Oumi laughed. “Thanks.”

 

                “Still, shield or no shield. With any luck, you’ll have the lighthouse bathroom back soon, the contractors won’t have to shoo Woof out of his favorite spot any more, and everyone will be able to go back to sleeping in their own beds.”

 

                “Even you, Uncle H?”

 

                He stopped at the entryway to the living room. “…What do you mean, Oumi?”

 

                “Well, you must have a house somewhere, right?”

 

                “…Yes…”

 

                “So once the lighthouse is done, does that mean you’re going home?”

 

                Double H stood in thought. “I… I honestly… I’m not sure, Oumi. I haven’t thought much about home since we got back from the Moon. Then, I—there was no question of me going anywhere! The lighthouse was half-rubble, you kids were still scared half to death, and Jade was out cold from the exhaustion of doing… Well, whatever it was she and that statue did. I couldn’t abandon her if there was a chance she was ill; if she needed help, I would give it to her. She ended up being fine, of course, but I stayed because I—hmm. I suppose I stayed because I’d already gotten used to being around her. Not just on the mission, but when we came back here to check on you kids. …I don’t really know.”

 

                Without warning, Oumi leapt toward his hand. He staggered as the girl clutched desperately at his arm. “Please don’t go, Uncle H! We already lost one uncle when Pey’j went missing. And you _do_ help out! Lots!”

 

                “Hey! Hey!” Double H steadied himself. He shook his arm limply. Oumi still clung firm, looking up at him with her deep, full black eyes. He sighed.

 

                “Now, now—no need to overreact. I don’t know if I _can_ just stay, Oumi—while I’m certain Jade is more than willing to let me linger for as long as I choose, I don’t know what Pey’j would say. I—for all I know, my presence here is already growing tense, and, to be polite, no one’s mentioned it. And I have a house in Canal City that I can’t just abandon, either, though I—I suppose have been gone for a rather long time already.”

 

                “So just stay! You don’t have any pets or kids or a wife or anything that you have to go home to, do you? Else you woulda left a long time ago!”

 

                “No, no. I live by myself,” he admitted. “But—it’s _complicated,_ Oumi.”

 

                She let go of his arm, letting it hang limply by his side. She backed toward the kitchen counter, scowling up into his face and twisting her mouth into a serious-looking grin.

 

                “…If you go, you have to _promise_ to visit. _Lots.”_

“Of course! Don’t be ridiculous, Oumi. Just because the Alpha Sections and the DomZ are mostly gone doesn’t mean that Jade and I aren’t still members of IRIS!—Why, even moreso, I’d think, given that we now know who our Chief is! You’d see me—“

 

                “But that’s _work,”_ Oumi complained. “What about visiting us just to say hello and play and have picnics and stuff?”

 

                He grinned. “Whenever possible.”

 

                “Do you swear on Carlson and Peeters?” She crossed her arms with a satisfied grin.

 

                Double H laid his right hand on an invisible book, lifted his left, closed his eyes, and intoned: “I solemnly swear on Carlson and Peeters that, should I leave the lighthouse, I would come and visit as frequently as I could, not solely for IRIS duties, but as the loving ‘Uncle H’ of Oumi, Fehn, Zaza, Kip, Pablo, and Yoa. Amen.”

 

                She gave him a sidelong, suspicious glance. “…OK. I believe you. But if you break your promise… When Fehn grows up and gets stronger than you, I’m going to have him get revenge on you. Now!” She smiled with all her teeth. “Wanna help me make breakfast?”

 

                “Don’t I get to do any stretches?”

 

                “You doing stretches only helps you. But if you help me make breakfast, it helps _everybody._ Just exercising is selfish!”

 

                Double H gave a twisty smile. “Flawless logic,” he said. “Very well then. What kind of breakfast are we making?”

 

                “Well, first.” She stepped around the counter. “You should roll up your sleeping bag. But. I think we should make… Muffins. Meï bought us a huuuge box of muffin mix. She must shop at the same bulk store Jade does most of the time.”

 

                Double H was familiar with that store, if in a very curious way. During the mission, Jade very well couldn’t stop running the lighthouse just because she was working with IRIS. The children relied on her, after all. So, one day, when they planned to investigate an Alpha Section hive Nino had directed them to, she remarked that she needed to do a few errands for the shelter as well. In the morning, she’d gone into the restricted quarter, stolen several pearls, and been chased out by an armed Alpha contingent along several Hillyan backstreets before escaping over a roof. _“We’d better get out of here before they discover what I just ‘borrowed’ from them,”_ she’d said cheekily, giddy on adrenaline as they dove for the open-air safety of the Pedestrian District. And in the afternoon? They’d gone grocery shopping. He’d tagged along on the excuse that there might be trouble if they ran into Alphas on patrol (word spread fast among them), but he honestly hadn’t expected any in such a public place—in truth, he’d followed because the other options were waiting at the Akuda or wandering dazedly around the Pedestrian District’s marketplace, and both made him feel painfully superfluous.

 

                “Uncle H?”

 

                He realized, with a jolt, that he had rolled up his sleeping bag all the way across the floor, and was fast approaching a wall. He chuckled at himself and scooped the bag up into his arms, leaving it near the nook where Jade slept.

 

                “Sorry,” he said. “I got lost in thought there for a second. Do you need help getting anything off the shelves?”

 

                “No, but could you get eggs for me out of the fridge? I already got the oil and the water.”

 

                At her request, he rummaged around in the fridge for the green egg carton, setting them on the countertop. Oumi, he was pleasantly surprised to see, was very good at getting organized. She’d pulled out a large metal bowl, spoons, a measuring cup, a bottle of vegetable oil, and a truly enormous unopened blue box of muffin mix.

 

                “Goodness. ‘Huge’ is certainly apt. What kind of muffin mix is it, exactly?”

 

                Oumi tilted her head at the instructions on the back of the box. “Plain,” she said. “But they tell you here how to add stuff to it to make the kind you want. Blueberries… cranberries… Bananas and nuts, apples and cinnamon… Oh! Do you like lemon muffins, Uncle H? Let’s make lemon ones! It’s really easy; you just need lemon extract.”

 

                “Do we _have_ that?”

 

                “Yes!” She grabbed a wooden spoon off the counter and jabbed it at the cupboards. “Meï bought us a bunch of stuff to make cookies with. Chocolate chips, too, so we could make chocolate chip muffins, but those I want to go in actual cookies. You have to grab it; it’s real high up.”

 

                Double H pushed the cupboard open and squinted into the cityscape of dark bottles, dusty yellow and red packages, and dented metal spice tins. “What does it look like, anyway?”

 

                “It’s a blue and white box that says ‘LEMON EXTRACT’ on it,” she said. “It should be near the front.”

 

                He nudged one possible blue-and-white box aside to read the label, but it ended up being vanilla. The tiny brown glass bottle behind it had no box, but the pattern on its label matched the one on the vanilla package. He pulled it toward the light, but it was, according to the slightly water-damaged print, “artificial maple.” The dust ingrained in the ridges on the lid suggested that it long predated Meï’s shopping spree. He ran his eyes around the edges of the cupboard, looking for more.

 

                Another blue-and-white box lurked just behind a silver tin with “CINNAMON” embossed on the slightly bent side. He moved the cylindrical shaker aside and grabbed the box—“LEMON EXTRACT.” Good. He set it down on the countertop beside the bowl.

 

                “How much do we need?” he asked. “You lead the way. I can cook well enough, but this was your idea—you get to be in charge.”    

 

                “Lessee… It says here a teaspoon. It’s pretty strong stuff, after all.”

 

                “One teaspoon, then. I see that you’ve already gotten them out. How much of the mix do we need?”

 

                “Says here, a basic batch of twelve muffins is—wait.”

 

                “Hmm?”  

 

                Oumi muttered under her breath. “Seven, eight—Uncle H, there are nine of us here, right?”

 

                “Affirmative.”

 

                “Well, we can’t make twelve muffins, then!”

 

                “Why not? It’s enough for all of us.”

 

                “But think about it.” She set down the box so she could gesticulate more wildly. “If we each have a muffin, there’ll be three left over! Three people would get extras! Then it wouldn’t be fair.”

 

                “I suppose not,” Double H said. He stroked his chin, privately thinking that he _would_ have gone for a second muffin if there had been any left. He tended to have a bit of an appetite. Maybe she had a point.

 

                “Well, could we make just five more?”

 

                “All I know how to do is double it,” she sighed. She ran her fingers down a panel on the back of the box, sticking her tongue out while she did a few mental aerobics. “Hmm… But if we do that, we’ll have twenty-four. Then we’d have enough for everyone to have two, but—nope. Three people would still get extra. They’d get _three_ muffins instead of two. Hold on—what’s the least common denominator of twelve and nine?”

 

                “Least common denominator? I haven’t heard _that_ since fifth grade. I’m afraid I deal more in strategies than numbers most of the time… I think you’re supposed to multiply them… Twelve times nine is—I haven’t even figured it out yet, and I _know_ we can’t make that many!”

 

                “It’s one-hundred and eight, but hold on.—Thirty-six. Three times twelve is thirty-six, and nine times four is thirty-six. So we each get four muffins.”

 

                “That seems like an awful lot,” Double H remarked. Truthfully, he imagined he would have no trouble eating that many, but he had a larger stomach than almost all of the lighthouse denizens except for Pey’j. “And I don’t know if—“

 

                “Don’t worry, everyone will be _really_ hungry when they wake up,” Oumi interrupted. “Uncle Pey’j can pick up for anyone else.” She began warring with the stubborn easy-open tab that refused to tear away.

 

                Growling, she sunk her nails underneath the flap on top and ripped it off in chunks, showering the countertop with scraps of blue and naked gray-brown cardboard. She dropped it back by the bowl with aplomb. “Alright! Now! I’ll measure in the mix, and _you_ add in the eggs! We need six of ‘em!”

 

                Double H pulled back the creaky cardboard lid on the egg carton. Just by eyeballing he could see that there were fewer than six eggs in it. He quickly counted them out. Five eggs. One short.

 

                “Was there another egg carton in there, Oumi?”

 

                “Nope. Just one. Why?”

 

                He showed her the contents of the cart. “We’re short one.”

 

                She’d already started spooning powdery mixture into the bowl, and her eyes sparkled stubbornly. “Eh, it’ll be fine,” she said, waving her hand.

 

                Though not a gourmet chef, he was reasonably certain it _wouldn’t_ be fine. “Er, Oumi—“

 

                “Don’t worry! We’ll add more oil. That oughta make up for it. How much oil do you think makes one egg?”

 

                “Oumi, maybe we should—“

 

                Too late. She dove on the carton like a predator, thwacking the eggs against the side of the bowl and crushing them open over the mix.

 

                “ _Oumi!”_

He was a bit shocked to realize that he had his hand around Oumi’s wrist, an eggshell, crumpled but intact, dangling at the ends of her fingers. Her large, liquid eyes quivered as she stared at him. “Uncle H?” His name itself was the question.

 

                He narrowed his eyes and flattened his lips. “Oumi, _stop._ We don’t have the ingredients we need. We can’t make this, and I’ve been trying to tell you to stop while we could still avoid wasting things. In the army, disobeying your superiors would get you in a _very_ great deal of trouble,” he warned.

 

                “Buh—but you said…” She swallowed warily. “You said I was in charge, Uncle H…”

 

                He stepped back, releasing her arm. She jerked away, clutching back on herself defensively.

 

                “I did, Oumi. But if you’re the one in charge, you have to stop and think. ‘Should I do this? Is this wise?’ You have to consider things!”

 

                “But—I can! I do! Jade leaves me in charge all the time when she and Uncle Pey’j go out! I do a _good_ job! She says I do, and I’m helpful and—I _do!_ I know I do! _”_

Double H felt very unstable and cold beneath his thick woolen tunic. “Oumi, even good leaders can make mistakes. A good way to do it is by running ahead before you think things through. No one knows this better than me, Oumi—carelessness on a mission very nearly got me killed more than once, and I—“

 

                “You’re _mad_ at me!” Oumi sniffled. She turned her back, arms dangling, the half-ruined egg in her left hand dripping goop down her fingers.

 

                “Oumi, I am _not_ mad. Merely—“

 

                “Don’t say ‘disappointed;’ I _hate_ it when adults say that!”

 

                “No, I’m just—“

 

                “You _are_ mad at me!”

 

                He huffed. “Let me speak! Oumi, I think you need to calm yourself for a minute. I’m not angry at all, but I wish you’d listened to me. Rushing into things without thinking about what you’re doing isn’t good, and now we’ve already used up most of the eggs we had left, and some of the muffin mix. All I ask is that, next time, you take the time to stand back and consider what you’re doing, and what you _should_ be doing, before you charge on ahead. OK?”

 

                “…You’re a Family Friend,” she moped. “You’re not supposed to be able to scold me.”

 

                “Oumi, if I stay forever like you want me to, that won’t be the case anymore. Then I’d be just Family, and I would have full license to scold you if need be.”

 

                She sighed.

 

                Double H stood up straight. “Now then… Captain.”

 

                Oumi whipped her head around.

 

                “What are your _informed_ orders, ma’am?”

 

                She grinned and pushed her hair out of her face. “ _Well._ Uhhh… First, I gotta wash my hand, because… yeah.” Holding up her left hand, she showed off the caved-in shell, translucent yellow trails oozing out of the cracks like slugs and tangling themselves in her fur. “Then. Um.”

 

                “First things first,” he said.

 

                Nodding in agreement, she stuck her hands over the sink and rubbed at the thick, goopy egg white clinging to her arms. She ran a washcloth against the grain of her hair, trying to pull all the last little bits of gunk out. She thought out loud while the water ran.

 

                “…Alright. We can’t use that egg; it got messed up. I put three in the bowl, but there’s still one left. I _didn’t_ finish putting in all the muffin mix. You need three scoops per batch, and I only put in five. So! If I add one more egg, and one more scoop, and then you add all the oil and water we need and the lemon extract… We’ll have just doubled the recipe. So we’ll still have plenty, and… I guess all the extras can go to Woof. He’ll eat anything.”

 

                “Excellent plan, Captain,” Double H said, jumping into the Hillyan Army salute. “And well thought-out, if I do say so myself!”

 

                “…You look silly doing that pose when you’re not in armor,” Oumi observed. “Your chest doesn’t stick out far enough without the plate.”

 

                “It’s a habit,” he shrugged. “I don’t mind! Now—add that final scoop, and I’ll add in the oil.”

 

                “Water first,” Oumi said. “So it doesn’t get all greasy with the oil. Doesn’t mix with water, remember?”

 

                “Good catch, Captain,” he nodded. “See? You are thinking!”

 

                “I get the picture!” she giggled. “You can stop calling me Captain.”

 

                “Why should I do that, Captain?”

 

                _“Uncle H!”_

“What?”

 

                “Now you’re just trying to annoy me.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

                “Thanks for the breakfast, guys,” Jade said, brushing crumbs away from her mouth.

 

                “You’re welcome. And we’re out of eggs now,” Oumi said.

 

                “You already told me, Oumi.”

 

                “Did I?”

 

                “Yep. Couple minutes ago.”

 

                “Oh… Sorry.”

 

                “No big deal,” Jade said. “Hey, Secundo! _Secundo!_ Where are you?”

 

                “ _Aqui,_ Yade,” the AI said. Over in the nook, Jade’s S.A.C. flashed. Secundo’s holographic body popped into being beside the fireplace, arms wide in greeting. “And good morning to you! How can _Secundo el Magnifico_ be of assistance?”

 

                “Add eggs to the shopping list,” Jade said.

 

                “Done, Yade. Anything else?”

 

                “Nope. Thanks, Secundo.”

 

                “Hey, stop taking so many!” Oumi glared at Pablo. Frowning sheepishly, he pulled back. “You already got two. Wait for everyone else to get some before you take seconds. Uncle Pey’j, Fehn, and Yoa still aren’t up yet.”

 

                “Well, Zaza only took one…” Pablo said defensively.

 

                Jade smiled. She turned away from the children, looking across the countertop at Double H. “You know, it was really nice of you to help Oumi with breakfast. She likes to help with things like lunch and dinner… Sometimes rushes ahead a little, though.”

 

                He smiled. “Well, hopefully after today she’ll think things through a little more.” He raised his voice. “Right, Oumi?”

 

                “Right!” she heartily agreed.

 

                Jade chuckled. “So. Last night, you told bedtime stories to Zaza and Fehn; now you’re _baking muffins_ for all of us? I’m beginning to think you’re going _soft,_ pal. What would your army buddies think?”

 

                “I’d think you would have suspected it long ago, Jade!” He laughed deep in his throat. “This old armor always did hold a particularly squishy heart, yes. _I_ don’t particularly think it’s a flaw. Do you?”

 

                “Are you kiddin’? Between you and the hard-noses who stand guard in Canal City? I know who _I_ prefer. You’re sweet, Dubs. I like ya.”

 

                “…’Dubs?’”

 

                “Well, ‘Double H’ _is_ a mouthful.”

 

                “’Hub,’ Miss Jade,” he corrected. “‘Hub.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much like Princesses and Firemen, this is pretty close to its original version. Deleting some said bookism here, clarifying character actions there.


	3. Cleanup Crew

Afternoon came, and with it, the sun.

                All at once, the clouds blew away, as if the sun had gotten angry and kicked them out. It rose high into the sky, eager to show off, and it toasted the grass to a sweet-smelling green. The puddles seemed to steam. The wind turned warm and gentle. And all across Hillys, the people who had been driven inside by the overnight storm and morning drizzle peeped tentatively outside.

 

                The children of the southern lighthouse shelter inched out in small waves. Fehn and Oumi, the bravest, tiptoed out first. Yoa and Pablo, the calmest, sauntered out behind them. Then Kip and Zaza, the quiet one and her steadfast guardian, worried themselves into the daylight. It smelled new.

 

                Jade’s arms arched skyward, and she wiggled her fingers to catch the warmth in every part of her. The rabbit-tail scuds in the sky looked as if they were just barely drifting past her fingertips. But as she peeped over to the horizon, and her lips creased. A thick armada of stormheads was lurking in the air just beyond Canal City, and it was preparing to strike.

 

                “Well, kids, whatever it is you were planning to do, you’d better do it quick. This ain’t gonna last long.”

 

                Kip gave a nod to Zaza and let go of her hand. She first walked, then stumbled, then ran out into the light, her smile breaking out more easily than it had in weeks. Oumi looked behind herself and giggled. With a loud _squelch,_ she stomped into a puddle right in front of Zaza, and the younger girl kicked a spray of mud back in reply. Brown-black flecks flew around them as they splashed. Kip put up an arm to shield his face from the flying mud and turned to Jade.

 

                “Think we should do some laundry? The radio says it’s gonna rain the next couple days, and it’s starting to pile up.”

 

                “Sounds like a _splendid_ idea, Kip,” Jade said, twirling the word _splendid_ around her tongue. She chuckled like Oumi and Zaza. “Want my help? Like you said, there’s an awful lot…”

 

                “It’s OK, Jade. I’m fine,” Kip said. “I like getting all wet and soapy. You smell nice afterward, especially when you dry out in the sun.”

 

                “If you insist,” Jade shrugged. “Sure you don’t want any help? You don’t have to do all the chores all by yourself, you know…”

 

                “No, Jade, it’s OK. You’ve got other things to do. I really don’t mind.” He shook his head.

 

                Jade grinned. “Other things like _what?_ No missions right now. And with _you_ around, I run out of chores faster than I can make them.” She shoved her hand into his hair and mussed it ten different directions. Kip’s shoulders turned into a ticklish crinkle.

 

                “You should do something you want to do,” he said. “Read a book, or watch a movie, or call one of your friends and have a nice long talk. I’ll take care of things, Jade.”

 

                She bent over, pushing her nose toward his. “Things _I_ wanna do? What about _you,_ kiddo? You’re pretty busy yourself!”

 

                “Don’t worry,” he said soothingly. “This is what I like to do.”

 

 

 

               

 

                  


 

“May I be of some assistance there, Kip?”

 

                The wide metal tub was leaving dark, grubby furrows on the floor behind it. Kip dropped the end he was dragging. It rattled much like Double H’s armor.

 

                “Thanks, Uncle H,” Kip said. He shook the stress out of his shoulders. “That thing is heavy. Could you carry outside for me? I’m going down by the door to the hangar.”

 

                Wordlessly compliant, Double H’s arms straddled the broad tub and slung it high over his head. He balanced the inside on the top of his skull like a very large, very heavy hat. Silky old soap residue made his gauntlets slide back and forth, and the smells of a thousand washings past drifted over him in a veil. He tipped it back to see and gingerly navigated the doorway as he followed Kip out into the yard.

 

                “What are you doing?” Double H asked, swerving around the hill in the center. “Going to give Woof a bath?”

 

                Kip shook his hand. “Doing laundry,” he corrected.

 

                With a heavy _oomph,_ Double H slung the tub back over his head. “I thought it was customary to use a hamper or bag for this sort of thing,” he observed. “What’s the tub for?”

 

                “Doing the laundry.”

 

                “By hand?” Double H stood up straight, eyes wide and concerned.

 

                “We don’t have a washing machine, you might’ve noticed.”

 

                “I had,” he said. “But wouldn’t you go to a laundromat instead? There must be an awful lot of clothes here; to do them all in just one big tub—isn’t anyone going to help you?”

 

                “I do this by myself a lot,” Kip shrugged. “It’s expensive to go to town to do it… We can’t really afford it most of the time. Besides, it’s really no problem for me. The laundry always comes out nice and clean.”

 

                “ _Always_ by yourself?” Double H knelt over, as if being closer to Kip would help him understand better. “Isn’t it a lot?”

 

                “It’s really OK, Uncle H,” Kip said. He drew a thick green hose from by the wall, draping the end inside the tub. He meandered back to the hook that held it and uncovered a valve hidden with the mass of rubbery coils. Fresh rainwater, new in the cistern, gushed from the head and pooled in the bottom of the tub.

 

                Double H straightened, his mouth digging deep into his frown lines. “It just… seems like a lot of work for one boy. Would you accept an offer of my help?”

 

                Kip gave a small grin. “Jade already offered,” he said. “I don’t want to be any trouble. You should enjoy the sun while you can.”

 

                Double H growled pensively. He pouted in time with his thoughts. “You know what… Kip, turn off the water. You deserve to have a nice day as much as anyone. I’m going to town and taking the laundry to a mat.”

 

                “But we can’t affor—“

 

                “I’m paying for it from my own pocket,” he interrupted. “And you know what? I’m going to ask Jade if there’s anything else she needs done. I’m going to take care of the errands, and I’m paying for everything.” He strode purposefully back toward the lighthouse, watching the construction worker’s tarps fluttering in the wind.

 

                Something snapped his shoulder back. He skidded in the mud, head spinning. Kip closed his fingers around Double H’s wrist.

 

                “Why do you kids keep grabbing my arms?” he asked. “Calling for me works just as well if you want my attention.” He patted the back of Kip’s hand.

 

                Kip blew a wayward strand of hair out of his face and smiled. “If you’re doing errands, I’m coming with you. I told Jade I’d help, and I will.”

 

                Double H sighed. “Can I convince you to take the afternoon off in any way at all?”

 

                “No,” Kip replied resolutely.

 

                “Very well,” he chuckled. “If you insist.”

 

               

 

                    

 

                 The inside of the laundromat was bright, warm, and clunky. The walls were the color of an old cake of soap, and smelled the same. Clothes spun in the dryer windows in hypnotic cyclones of color. Kip took Double H’s credits-card and swung it in front of the counter’s reader. The man at the front pressed several buttons on his keypad. He passed over a small bottle of washing fluid and a box of dryer sheets. His eyes gave Kip his best “Look-what-a-helpful-young-man-you-are” sparkle.

 

                Kip dove over the benches and around a stumbling college student, holding out his prize to Double H. “I got the stuff,” he said. Double H looked up with a handful of Oumi’s brightly-colored sweaters in hand.

 

                “Oh. Just put them on top,” he said, pointing to the machine next to him. Kip carefully deposited the supplies while Double H’s hand unloaded the clothing. He picked up an outsized white T-shirt of Pey’j’s and chucked it into the machine next to him. “And if you want to continue being helpful, you could help me sort these. I put bright colors in this machine next to me, whites in this one, and the darker colors in that one right there.”

 

                “Can do,” Kip affirmed. His brown mop top flashed against the clean machines, sorting clothes with ease. The pile vanished beneath Double H’s fingers before he had time to look down and notice it was gone. Privately, he admitted that it might have been because he balked—he’d seen something pink and lacy at the top of the stack and turned away on instinct. By the time he looked back, Kip had made it vanish.

 

                “You’re certainly good at this, Kip,” he complemented. “How long _have_ you been helping Jade with the laundry?”

 

                “Oh—not just Jade,” Kip said. “I used to help my mom like this all the time, before… Well.”

 

                Double H poured out the small bottle of washing liquid into each machine, trying to give each one an even amount. “Ah.” He chewed on his own cheeks for a moment. That was the reality of all the lighthouse children, wasn’t it? All of them had that “before.” Despite the warmth of the laundromat, he briefly felt cold. Yet Kip puttered on, his facial expression as cheerfully busy as it had been before.

 

                Double H sucked in a deep breath. “So. You’ve…. always been this helpful.” He shot Kip a look.

 

                “Mom was really busy,” Kip said. He brushed a cloud of lint dust from the front of one of the dryers without stopping to think. “She always had stuff to do. Someone had to help her.”

 

                Double H passed his card in front of the sensor on each machine and punched a different button on each one. The aging machines chugged to life, water sloshing into them. He pondered for a moment, swallowed, and spoke. “What about your father?”

 

                Kip quietly sat down on one of the benches. It creaked, even above the gushing and whipping of the laundromat.

 

                “…Oh. I’m sorry.” _I suppose he’s not as insuppressible as he seems. I shouldn’t have pushed._

 

                He joined Kip on the bench. The entire structure curved towards him, bulky muscles and bulkier armor bending the beams. “I didn’t mean to hit a nerve, Kip. You seemed to have no problem discussing your mother, so I assumed… it was alright to talk about. Do you forgive me?”

 

                “Aww, you’re alright, Uncle H,” Kip said. He rocked on the edge of the bench. “I just… never knew him. He… didn’t really want a kid. My mom… She was really young when she had me. I think about… Fifteen. She had a boyfriend, but when she told him she was going to have me… He didn’t think he was ready, you know?”

 

                “I see.” Double H’s eyes creased, and his eyebrows fell. “Did… did her parents—your grandparents, I mean—did they…?”

 

                “Grammy and Grampa were really nice!” Kip’s back straightened defensively. “They told Mom they’d try and support her whatever she chose. She said she wanted to keep me, so they helped her. Grampa worked at home, so he looked after me when Mom was in school.”

 

                Double H sniffed. “Yet… you’re here with us. And not with them.”

 

                “Mom and I were visiting them when… Well…” Kip’s eyes glazed.

 

                “I—I understand,” Double H said quickly. “No need to linger if you don’t want to talk about it.”

 

                “They were only taken,” Kip mumbled. “I thought they would’ve come back there, at the end, like we all did… But they must’ve… they must’ve already been…”

 

                Double H gave Kip a reassuring pat on the back. “It’s alright, Kip. You don’t have to tell me if it bothers you. Frankly, I’m shocked you’re so willing to discuss this!”

 

                “It’s kinda nice,” Kip said. “Talking about them. It’s nice… remembering.”

 

                Double H placed a hand on Kip’s shoulder. “It certainly can be, yes.”

 

                The sound of the churning machines filled the silence.

 

                Eventually, Double H spoke again. “…Why don’t you tell me a bit more about your mother? I would like to hear a bit more about how you came to be so helpful.”

 

                “You would?” Kip said brightly.

 

                “Of course,” Double H said. “As I believe you were saying, your grandfather looked after you…”

 

                “…Uh, I was too little to help anyone then,” Kip said. “But after my mom got out of school, she still wanted to go to college, even with me. I was about three then. Old enough to understand that she wanted to do something big and scary. We moved, and suddenly I didn’t have Grammy and Grandpa anymore, and I had to go to a day-care with a lot of other kids… I didn’t like it a lot. Mom worked too, to help support me, so even though she didn’t have classes all day, she still worked during the day. And when I finally got to see Mom again in the evening, she was really tired, and usually busy doing homework.”

 

                “I can imagine it must have been tough,” Double H said. “Even when you were so little.”

 

                “So… I really wanted to help her, you know? I figured out pretty quickly how to make sandwiches on my own… So I’d make her sandwiches to eat. And I’d always make sure I kept my things picked up, and I helped put away other things, so our apartment was clean for her. When I got a bit bigger, I learned how to clean stuff, too. So I’d sweep and mop and dust. I even helped with the dishes. I did what I could…”

 

                Kip lifted up from his storytelling posture to look straight at Double H. The soldier’s hard face was a collection of grins—the one in his lips was the big one, but the edges of his cheekbones and his eyes were full of dozens of smaller ones. “You’re a very kind and thoughtful boy, aren’t you?”

 

                “Thanks, Uncle H,” Kip said earnestly. “Even when Mom was done with college, and I started going to school myself… she still worked, all by herself, to support both of us. When I came home, I was usually all alone until she got off for the evening. I did all the chores I could so she wouldn’t have anything to worry about when she got home.”

 

                “ _All_ of them?” Double H marveled.

 

                “Everything I could,” he said plainly. “Cleaning, laundry, taking out the trash, all that stuff. The only thing she wouldn’t let me do was cook by myself, but I can understand that.

 

                “She worked as an assistant to a biologist. She studied animals and stuff. She really liked it, but it was hard. She always called me her ‘little animal.’” His nose twitched, and his eyes went misty.

 

                “She must have really appreciated everything you did for her,” Double H said.

 

                “She was a lot like Jade,” Kip admitted. “Funny, but she would always say that I didn’t have to do _everything._ But—she’d get home, and she was so _tired!_ As long as she was there, she did let me make dinner once or twice. I could only make spaghetti, and pancakes from mix. So we had those a lot. But pancakes were her favorite food, anyway.”

 

                “Does Jade ever let you make pancakes for dinner?” Double H asked with a laugh.

 

                “I’ve done it a couple times!” he chirped. “When Jade and Pey’j were gone for a while during her mission, I would cook for all of us. It was fun! It was like having a big family with a lot of brothers and sisters. I always wanted brothers and sisters, but I knew I couldn’t have any because Mom was all alone. She never had another boyfriend since that one…”

 

                Double H hummed kindly. “But… I imagine brothers and sisters aren’t much of a replacement for your mother.”

 

                Kip curled his arms around himself, rubbing his shoulders. “I miss her. But… That time she lost her job in college, or that time I sprained my ankle, or when she lost her wallet… She’d say things to me like, ‘You can’t lose yourself in bad things. Good things can come out of bad things. You have to wait and you have to try.’ Things like that, usually different, but she’d always end on: ‘I didn’t think I’d have you, but here you are. And I’m always glad of that.’”

 

                He slowly craned his head to look up at Double H. “I think about Mom a lot. But now I have Jade, and all the other kids, and two uncles who are nicer than anybody.” Double H’s chest briefly swelled. “And if Mom and my grandfolks met you… I think you wouldn’t even have to introduce each other. It’d be like a big family reunion right from the start. Mom could take somebody she’d never seen before, and talk to them like she’d known them a thousand years.”

 

                Kip’s lips were poised as if he wished to continue, but a loud buzz cut him off. The two whipped their faces toward the washing machines. The sloshing sounds inside one dropped off—two more sharp buzzers rang out, and the three machines churned to a stop.

 

                Double H stood, stretching his arms high over his head. “Time to load the dryers,” he yawned. “And I got to hear such a nice story while we waited!” At the end of his yawn, he tapped Kip on the shoulder. “The dryers take a bit longer, so we’ll have time to run to the next stop on our errands.”

 

                “It’s the hardware store, right?”

 

                “Right you are! Pey’j needs a few things.” The washer lid popped open with a metallic warping sound.

 

                Double H bent over into the washer and scooped out handfuls of damp clothing. He hobbled over to the dryer columns. Kip wove under his feet and popped the dryer covers open. With a thankful nod, Double H piled his armful inside.

 

                Behind him, someone yelped: “Aaah!” Double H quickly spilled the last few pants in his arms into the dryer and turned around. Kip was far ahead of him.

 

                “Oh! Hold on, ma’am! I’ll help you!”

 

                The boy vaulted himself over the bench where he’d told his life story, leaping to the aid of the old woman near the door to the laundromat. Her wrinkled hands betrayed her age, but her face was obscured behind a towering hamper. The pile was leaning to one side and pulling the woman with it.

 

                Kip threw his hands under the basket, steadying it while the woman found her balance. “Oh!” she exclaimed, unsteady with surprise. Wrapping his hands around the hamper’s sides, he took a step back. “I’ll help you set it down, OK, ma’am? How about this way?”

 

                “Oh! Of course.” Her voice was like an old ribbon: tattered, but still soft. Walking backwards, Kip guided her over to one of the benches. He took the hamper down into a fine landing. The old woman peeped out from behind the mound of clothing. Her long gray hair was wrapped up in a rather youthful ponytail.

 

                “Thank you very much, young man,” she complimented. “That was very kind of you! I don’t suppose you’re a Scout of some kind, are you?” Her brown eyes were mischievous. “You’re not looking to get a badge by helping an old lady, are you?”

 

                “Nope,” Kip shook his head. “You just looked like you needed help, after all.”

 

                “If I had a badge, I would give you one anyway! We so often forget the small acts of kindness.” She fixed on Kip. She watched his own eyes go off into the back of the shop, and she followed them to Double H. His eyebrows were slightly disbelieving, but his mouth was wide as the sky. When his mind caught up with the details of what had happened, his body followed suit. He stood in his proudest Hillyan military salute.

 

                The afternoon was slow, and aside from the employees, he was the only other person in the shop. The woman chuckled to herself. “Now would you look at that? Have you ever seen a prouder father? I think every man believes his son is something special, but he—he _knows_ it.”

 

                Twisting confusion threatened Kip’s face. With a twitch of his cheeks, he shooed it away. “Actually, he—uh, I only helped you catch your basket. It’s nothing big.”

 

                “You helped me just because you could. To me, that counts.” She thumped the top of her hamper solidly.

 

                A cheerful guffaw rolled through the shop. “Oh Kip! Speaking of helping, why don’t you come back here and help your _old man_ load the rest of the dryers?”

 

                Kip’s voice winked and his cheeks when round and rosy. “Sure thing, _dad!_ Just a moment.” To the old woman, he bid good-bye. “I gotta go. See you!” And he jogged to the back of the shop, soles bouncing along the tile.

 

                Conspiratorially, he whispered to Double H. “This is silly.”

 

                “Yes, but it’s fun! I’m actually quite flattered that she mistook me for your father. That was a good thing you did for her. Even if I’m not your father, I AM PROUD OF YOU!” Kip leapt back at the sudden shout. Double H looked over his shoulder and was pleased to see the glee on the old woman’s face.  

 

                Going back and forth between the machines, they finished loading the last of the washing. All the while, they chuckled, giving each other back-and-forth glances holding barely-contained laughter. Kip waved one last time to the old woman as they left the shop, ready to run to their next destination while the clothes dried.

 

                The hardware store was just down the street, so they leisurely strolled among the other pedestrians shopping in Canal City. The smells of ten different kinds of cuisine filled the air, and fifteen different languages conversed around them. Their eyes flitted between the colorful posters that covered every available stretch of wall: Advertisements for businesses, flyers for upcoming events, and even an old Alpha Sections poster that someone had defaced with spray paint. Kip pulled in close to Double H.

 

                “…Hey, Uncle H. Did _you_ have a dad?”

 

                “Hmm? Oh, yes. I had a father. …Still do, as a matter of fact.”

 

                “Really? What’s he like?”

 

                “My father…? Hmmm, let’s see. I think… the first thing that comes to mind is how high-spirited he is. He could be sick with a horrible cold, badly injured, he could’ve had the worst day of his life—but he’d still smile and laugh about it. He still likes to barrel into my mother and make a scene about ‘accidentally’ crashing into the most _beautiful_ woman he’s ever seen…” He added, after a few seconds, “When I was your age, I thought it was the most disgusting thing I could imagine.”

 

                “Did you ever… do things with him? Like, just the two of you—father-son things?”

 

                “Yes, all the time!” Double H walked with his hands behind his back, nostalgia roiling through his mind. “He was crippled during an accident when he was younger—lost a portion of his left leg—but he never let it slow him down. We did a lot of things together. Movies… going to the park… Even just doing errands together. A lot like this, in fact!”

 

                “Good,” Kip said certainly. “That’s what I was hoping for.”

 

                “How so?”

               

                “Because I was wondering if this really was what it was like. Just… hanging out with your dad.”

 

                Double H’s heavy, clanking footsteps suddenly slowed. Kip moved on ahead of him breathlessly before Double H remembered himself. Two jogging strides brought him back in step. “I—ah, thank you, Kip.”

 

                “You make a good dad,” Kip said.

 

                He stumbled again. His hands folded into a fidget. This time, it was Kip who slowed down to match him.

 

                “I’m sorry. Did I embarrass you?”

 

                “Only somewhat,” Double H confessed. “It’s quite a large compliment.”

 

                “But it’s true. I meant it when I said I think my mom would be happy to know you’re one of the people looking after me. You listen to us and play with us, and Zaza really likes you.”

 

                “Oumi actually said something very similar this morning,” he distantly observed. “You make me worry that Pey’j hasn’t been very nice to you.”

 

                “Nah, he’s cool,” Kip said. “But he’s already kinda Jade’s dad. You know what I mean? Even if she calls him ‘Uncle.’ He really is more like our uncle, or maybe our grampa. You’re more… dad-like. Does that make sense?”

 

                Truthfully, he was not sure what the difference was. But he had not been around the “real,” domestic Pey’j long enough to know everything about the way he and the children got on. “I… I think it might. Either way, you kids sure seem intent on keeping me here.”

 

                The heavy stucco storefront of the hardware store loomed. Posters of sales hugged the large front windows. Kip’s gaze flitted between one large, laminated banner and another.

 

                “…Can I pretend for the rest of the day?”

 

                “Hmmm?”

 

                “Can I pretend you are our dad? I won’t call you ‘pop’ or anything, unless we see that old lady again. But would it bother you if I thought it for myself? And maybe told somebody else you were?”

 

                “Oh… Well, if you want to, Kip, that’s fine. I don’t see what it can hurt, unless you go around telling _everyone…”_

“Only if someone asks.”

 

                They quietly lingered in front of the door. Together, they silently edged aside when a woman came out toting an armful of plastic tubing.

 

                “…Oumi wanted you to stay too, right?”

 

                “Yes. Yes she did.”

 

                “Will you?”

 

                “…I’m thinking.”

 

                Kip chewed on his words. His shoulders slid. Suddenly, he popped toward the doorway, and the automatic door hissed open.

 

                “Come on!” he said urgently. “We don’t have time to waste before the laundry’s done, do we? We’d better hurry, or she’s going to be mad at us!”

 

                Double H trotted in after him. “Hey—calm down now, Kip! We still have a little time, and we only need a few things. I don’t think she’ll be too upset.”

               

                “But we _promised_ her we’d do the errands for her. It’s her day off! I mean, she works _so hard_ at her job _and_ looking after _us kids…_ ”

 

                He paused on the threshold, the air curtain whipping around him. He squinted into Kip’s eyes, wondering into Kip’s mind. There was a mischievous glint there, and he understood.

 

                A warm glow spread across his face. “Of course! And you know I’d do _anything_ for her… _kiddo._ ” As he promised, Kip did not call him “Pop.” But maybe, he didn’t need to.

 

                Jubilantly, Double H followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of the Lighthouse Tales stories that I actually did substantial work on. I added a fair amount of dialogue between Kip and Double H, because I always thought it was weird that he was just totally cool with talking about his deceased family like that. I gave their discussion more of a transition. I also cleaned up a decent amount of overwriting from this one. Though as I've noted--if you preferred it the old way, the original will remain up!


	4. Pas de Deux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who have been following this real-time, apologies for the gap in posting. I've been taking an online class that's eaten a lot of my writing energies. 
> 
> I highly recommend familiarizing yourself with this piece of classical music for this story, as it's integral to the plot: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nz0b4STz1lo

The storm clouds that had loomed so threateningly in the afternoon spent all their energy before evening came, spitting all their fury out over Canal City. All that made it to the Lighthouse was a gentle rain and a velvety mist that smelled like the sea.

Propped up snugly in the fireside nook, Jade tiredly scrolled her fingers along the SAC in her lap. She tapped on her emails, groggily skimming through them. Their senders’ barely-audible voices squeaked against the blare of the radio, where most of her family listened to people play baseball on a far-off field that was much drier.

 

                She poked the screen, and an enthusiastic female voice got lost in the clamor. But Jade was able to read the text on the screen regardless. She smiled suddenly.

 

                Pey’j and most of the children sat glued to the radio, watching the speaker as if they expected it to spontaneously turn into a television and give them a better view. Only two were elsewhere: Yoa sat on a cushion near the stairs to construction work, head bent into her own world. Double H was over in the kitchen, clinking spoons in mugs as he stirred up nine assorted cups.

 

                He lifted the tray full of mugs and came over to the crowd that had sprung up near the fireplace. “If you can bear to divert your attention for a second—I’ve got the drinks. If you want your hot chocolate, you’d better come and get it now!”

 

                Fehn batted him away with a hiss. “Shhh! The baseball game’s on right now! Wait for the commercial!”

 

                Jade chuckled softly. “I’m not listening to that game. I’ll take one.” Double H bent over and she picked a mug up from his tray. She moved her SAC to one side to make a resting space for the cup. She took a pleased sip, but let the mug rest against her lip as the steam flowed into her face.

 

                “Mmm. “Nice work. Tastes a little different than I’m used to… but not bad. A little… spicier.”

 

                “Nutmeg and cinnamon,” he nodded. With a whisper, he added, “But I know that’s not the only thing you’re smiling about. What were you so happy about, just now?”

 

                Jade sipped warmly with one hand and patted her SAC with the other. “Got an e-mail from the Governor,” she said. “According to the forecast, starting the day after tomorrow, we’re supposed to have a straight week of nothing but sunshine. All this rain’s going on a little trip to someplace far away from here.”

 

                “And…? Surely, the Governor didn’t mail you simply to update you on the weather.”

 

                “Nope,” Jade agreed. “She’s spent all day on the phone calling every contractor in the city. Starting Friday, she’s sending _fifteen_ of them our way to work on the upper living floor of the lighthouse.”

 

                Double H’s eyes bulged. “ _Fifteen?_ Most houses get built with around _three,_ don’t they? And that’s from the ground up! With fifteen carpenters—“

 

                “—The kids’ll be sleeping inside by next Saturday,” she grinned gleefully. “Before the rains kick back in again—and before it might not always be safe down in that cave. And these are great guys, the Governor said. They might even be able to rebuild _and_ possibly add on a little extra space before the weather gets bad again.”

 

                “Wow,” Double H said. He realized his mouth was hanging open a little. “The Governor’s really pulling out all the stops, isn’t she?”

 

                “Says it’s the least she could do for the heroes of Hillys,” Jade said, smiling impishly. “Besides. I think she wants to help the kids stay safe.”

 

                The sounds of the game faded out beside them, replaced by a fast-talking used hovercraft dealer. Without the game to focus on, the kids seemed to finally realize that, yes—that _was_ cocoa they were smelling, and the source of said cocoa was standing right behind them.  

 

                “Hot chocolate!” Fehn squealed. He and the others dove for the drink tray in a squirming mass.

 

                Both Jade and Pey’j rose their voices above the din: “Hey! Calm down, kids! One at a time!” Holding true to his training, Double H stood firm, and did not spill a drop. Mugs disappeared from his tray. Pey’j hovered overhead to enforce that “one-at-a-time.” He waited at the end of the line as the kids each took their drink before snagging a cup himself.

 

                “Did you hear about the Governor’s e-mail?” Jade asked him.

 

                “Oh, I heard,” he said. The mug disappeared beneath his broad snout as he swigged down half its contents. “I’ve been keeping an ear on you two. Good lady, that Governor. She’s a real, uh, whatchamacallit… _mensch,_ I think it is.” He drunk and half again disappeared, leaving him with a shallow puddle in the bottom of his mug. “Hey… How come there’s two mugs left?”

 

                “One of those is mine,” Double H explained. “The other… hold on…” He squinted at the crowd around the radio, all of them now pointedly ignoring a station bumper. “…Wait, where’s Yoa?”

 

                Jade pointed. Double H followed her finger to the unassuming notch in the wall where Yoa had sequestered herself. He frowned with concern. With a soft clatter, he returned the tray to the kitchen countertop and carried the two remaining mugs over to her corner.

 

                The peculiar girl was hunched. She had her eyes closed and her head hung despondently. She clutched her legs in to her chest. Her unusual blue hair curtained her head, making it difficult to judge her face, but her lips seemed pursed.

 

                He knelt carefully and murmured, “Yoa?”

 

                She sat motionless. She made no sign of having heard. Behind him, the ball game had kicked back into swing.

 

                He cleared his throat cautiously, looking back at the radio’s crowd. Raising his voice, he asked again: “Yoa?”

 

                This time, the girl raised her head. She opened her eyes curiously. Although she looked thoughtful, she did not seem dolorous. Against her pale dress, Double H saw the black cords come down from her ears, join above her neck, and flow down to the portable music player resting in her lap.

 

                He smiled with a sigh. Quickly, she flicked the switch off on the player and removed an ear bud. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I wanted to offer you some hot chocolate. Do you want some?”

 

                She blinked twice, thinking. “…Slower,” she asked, her voice demonstrating her request.

 

                Double H sighed once more. “Sorry,” he apologized again. His tempo went down. “I forget. Would you like some hot chocolate?”

 

                The conversation broke off as she worked the words in her head. “…Yes,” she replied. “Please. And… thank you.”

 

                He handed her one of the mugs and sat down beside her. Finally, he took a sip from his own cup; he hadn’t yet had time to test the cocoa to see if it was truly up to standards. The cinnamon and nutmeg teased his tongue, and he knew it was. Yoa wrapped her hands in her long skirt to handle the hot mug and took a delicate, gentle sip.

 

                “Don’t like baseball?” Double H asked, mindful of his pace.

 

                Yoa responded much more quickly. “Fun… to watch,” she said. “But radio… talk very fast. Can not… know. Know… Can not… und… umt… unter…”

 

                “…Understand?” Double H filled in.

 

                “Yes.” She smiled and took another drink. “Very hard. I like music… No words.”

 

                “What are you listening to?” he asked.

 

                She handed him one of the earbuds and put her hand on the player. Dutifully, he wedged the little plastic knob into his ear. It pinched and pushed against the inside, but he smiled and gave her a thumbs-up.

 

                She clicked the switch on the device and the music began again. One side of a classical piece shuddered out of the tiny holes in the bud. The music was light and energetic, rife with jolly strings and boisterous horns. Did he know this piece? Something about it seemed familiar, but he couldn’t put a name to it. He closed his own eyes and absorbed the melody until Yoa, satisfied that he’d appreciated it, paused it on him.

 

                “It’s nice. What is it?”

 

                She showed him the glowing read-out on the front of the player. “JUPITER: THE BRINGER OF JOLLITY - GUSTAV HOLST.” Somewhere in his life, he was vaguely aware of having heard some classical suite or another by that name. Perhaps a movie had used it recently. Nonetheless, he gave her a smile. “Ah. Do you like c—this kind of music?” He reconsidered the word “classical” and decided it might be too complex.

 

                “I like… music with no words,” she said. “Und-er-stand it… Do not have to understand words… Know music because it is… music is music. It… ah…” She broke down into her own language again, babbling furtively to herself in thought.

 

                Double H put a hand on her shoulder. She looked at him. “I think I know what you mean,” he said. “You can tell what music means by the way it sounds. Everyone can. You don’t need language.”

 

                She smiled energetically. “Yes!” More sedately, she added, “I can not… say what I think… every time…”

 

                “It’s alright,” Double H said. He downed his cooled hot cocoa much like Pey’j had. “I understood just fine. And… I think you have a very good point. …A good idea,” he clarified. “Music speaks to everyone.”

 

                “I like to… make stories,” she said suddenly.

 

                “Hmm?”

 

                “When I hear music,” she added. “I make the sounds… to stories. Like… dance.”

 

                He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “You… make up dances? Or stories?”

 

                “Dances and stories,” she said. “Like one… I do not know its name for you… in… my language… is _Kahlein_ _Sueahn…”_ She hummed a few bars of a low, light melody.

 

                “Oh! You mean _Swan Lake.”_ He did not expect to grin. “Yes! I suppose that is a dance that tells a story. Do you like to dance?”

 

                Abruptly, Yoa stood. She put her music player into one of the pockets of her dress and snatched up Double H’s hand. She tugged his arm and his shoulder with an ebullient face. She giggled brightly. Good-naturedly, Double H groaned to his feet.         

 

                She lead him up the ramp into the cleared-out space where construction had been taking place. At present, the top floor of the lighthouse was one whole, drafty, translucent room, shielded with tarps and thin, whippy beams. The damp tarps shuddered in the wind and rain. Even without the strength of last night’s storm, the tarp still snapped and bellowed like a restless crowd.

 

                Double H’s foot crinkled on another plastic sheet that was laid on the floor. “Yoa, I don’t think we should be up here…”

 

                “A little time,” she said. “I show you dance. I do not want to…” She threw out an unknown word. “They are listening…”

 

                “Yoa, I—“

 

                Heedless, she set her music player on the floor, with the built-in speaker facing up. She pulled out the earphones and stuck those in her pocket. She pressed several buttons, turned a knob on the side, and hurried herself to the center of the open space. She knelt on the floor, anticipating.

 

                The symphony of strings began. With a shocking fluidity, Yoa rose, quick as the violinists’ bows in the piece. She struck a pose when the horns chimed in. It was the same piece from before, but now she moved inside it.

 

                The players began with uneasiness and questioning. Yoa’s footsteps mimicked them. She moved across the room with a slow, curious gait, as if cautiously approaching a door. Her facial expression was optimistic. But the drum sounded powerfully, and she turned with a frown. She threw her arms up high and her head down low, and she sunk to the ground, cowering beneath every percussive strike. The entire orchestra sounded mightily, and she leapt her entire body into the sky, straight from the ground.

 

                She moved with fear now. Her actions were frantic, and the music, too, seemed slightly afraid. She mimed ducking, and falling, and covering her head. Her fingers moved like rain. Her eyes were always on the sky, and she leapt out of the way of invisible falling missiles. She pirouetted as if elegantly dodging a hail of bullets. Her eyes wavered with such ferocity that Double H longed to dive to her aide. But for what purpose? There was no danger here but the holes her mind crafted in her stage.

 

                But another musical burst struck, and she pulled up from the ground. She stuck out her hand, as if someone else was helping her to her feet. She moved with an unsure smile. As she danced, she gave her hands to more unseen partners—this motion looked like a wave, that one looked like a bow, and that one even looked like a tip of a hat. She paused to shake invisible hands with another apparition, and even twirled him. But she moved shyly off to the side, looking up at a face that wasn’t there.

 

                She let herself be urged forward, however, and the music built; this time, it slowed as well. It was not a sorrowful slow-down. It became festive and restful, like a lazy afternoon picnic.

 

                Now she was clearly playing. She spun in circles. She sipped an invisible cup of tea. Even her eyes were in on it. She sparkled and cavorted as if the sun shone down in full force still. She danced with great animated leaps and turns, and Double H thought he saw the dim outline of her reflection in the shimmer in the wet tarps. It was as if an entire troupe accompanied her. She went into a wild series of spins, holding herself aloft on one foot, arms dashing out and in to keep her balance as the revolutions kept stacking up—

 

                And, suddenly it ended.

 

                All the instruments crashed. She fell with planned inelegance. The horns bleated in attack. Once again, Yoa was cowering. She knelt with her arms protectively beneath her, as if to shield another. She fought phantom aggressors with one arm still firmly around an airy figure. Her wild struggle was fluid and pained. Dragging her feet, she ran to the side of the stage. She beat against the air, but fell limp. She dangled. She curled into a ball as the horns went soft.

 

                Double H thought he was beginning to understand.

 

                He stepped toward her slightly as she began to open her eyes. The music awakened with her. This time, when she stuck out her hand, he helped her to her feet. His armor was not as graceful as her dress, but he moved with all the ease he could muster. She danced around him and assessed him as she ran. She made a ring around him and moved aside to let herself go through again. She pressed against him warmly with a genuine hug. She gave him her arm, and, doing the only partner-dance move he knew, he spun her out before pulling her back. She repeated this as well—she went down an invisible line, spinning herself towards two other bodies.

 

                She beckoned him toward the center and gestured down. He sat. Yoa began to fluidly move around a wide oval, at the middle of which was him. Downstairs, someone turned on an extra light. The glow from below escaped up the ramp and lit him up, and Yoa posed grandly behind him. From her mind’s troupe, she took two hands on either side of her and held them up. She made a pose that radiated.

 

                “Stand,” she said kindly. As the music hit a crescendo, he stood. She moved finely in front of him. “Hold us?”

 

                In one arm he took her, and in the other, he took her invisible teammate. He tried to grab her by the shoulders at first, but she wiggled up, so he had to hold her up by the waist. Even gripped around the middle, she arched her back and made a crescent of herself. She stuck her legs out long, and he imagined her partner did the same. Beside them, he imagined the six other dancers making similar figures. Yoa held, then swept her arms downward.

 

                He understood the “down.” He set her and her partner both back down on the floor. He made a few poses of his own while Yoa struck hers. He grumbled to himself: _How she doesn’t feel self-conscious while doing this, I’ll never know. Then again, it’s hard to be light on your feet wearing all this armor._

 

                And the music changed again.

 

                It was back to being curious. Yoa moved off to the side while the flutes gossiped. From the wings, she grinned at him expectantly. Did she expect him to take center stage? She gave him a little reassuring wave with the back of her hand. “Dance with her,” she said, incorporating her gesture perfectly into her walk.

 

                He spun and looked at his new partner. Though she did not exist, she tumbled her hands, one over the other, and offered him one. Her feet were poised.

 

                The horns thundered, and the drum banged like a loving heart. With a smile, he accepted her and pulled her close.

 

                He supposed knew how to waltz, if he had to. (And he’d had to—he’d attended a few weddings here and there.) However, though he wasn’t musically trained, he knew that this was not a waltz. So he glanced at Yoa, scanned her movements, and let her company member lead him. Even if, in dance, the woman did not usually lead. He spun her and caught her, too, and his armored shoes rattled across the stage. On her side, Yoa’s dance was flittery and excited. Her gestures were like gossip and anticipation.

 

                The band roared in fanfare. Yoa’s side began leaping in celebration. They moved in to circle Double H and his partner, cheering and applauding them. The melody marched into a reprise of an earlier section—the “greeting,” as Double H thought of it. But it soon took on an air of preparation. Yoa trembled from partner to partner as they whirled together, building and setting up a great something. Each piece of the assembly took their arms higher and higher.

 

                The music began to frolic again. Yoa centered herself. Double H lead his partner, and they did too, joining the entire entourage in a great line. He felt himself breaking out into the kind of wide, hot grin that told him he was _almost_ too embarrassed to admit how much fun he was having. With a toss of her leg, Yoa wrapped herself up in dozen tight spins, twirling like a top with a long, elegant skirt.

 

                Briefly, he hesitated. Even without armor, he didn’t have that kind of coordination. But his invisible partner simply held his arm and moved in front of him to pose. The light shone fiercely on him. The troupe’s spins were merely an accenting. He and the invisible dancer had their own routine to do.

 

His partner posed like a swan. Without hesitation, he lifted her into the air as the music mounted. He spinned in the slow, clunky way he could manage, which would have nicely shown off his partner’s posture.

 

                The troupe got into line behind them. The orchestra wound up for their last and final hit.

 

                He threw her into the air.

 

                His partner did her own spin in mid-air, like an ice skater doing an axel. The others cavorted. She seemed to hang for an infinity, kept aloft only by the music and her own rotational momentum. Gravity struggled to reclaim her. But his arms were open and waiting, and while Yoa and her group adorned them at the sides, her caught her tightly and embraced her.

 

                Both she and Yoa threw themselves back, horns howling and strings soaring, their faces toward the sky.      

 

                The drums exploded in triumph.

 

                A sudden gust shook the clouds, and the rain roared. The tarps clapped and popped with gusto. The wind whistled its approval. Double H gently set aside his gracious partner and the troupe took hands. With Yoa clasped in one, and his partner in another, they bowed gregariously to every raindrop in the audience. With no sense of the moment, the music player thoughtlessly segued into the next piece on its playlist.

 

                “Wonderful,” Double H said. “Simply wonderful, Yoa.”

 

                “Thank you,” she said. “Dance, also. Thank you for that.”

 

                He hummed with satisfaction. “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m light on my feet, but I think I did well. It was… _fun._ But you—you were _fantastic,_ Yoa. And the story…”

 

                She smiled. “Yes. You… understand?”

 

                “Yes,” he nodded simply. “It was about you, wasn’t it? How you came here, how you met everyone. You even got the fixing of the lighthouse in there.”

 

                “You understand!” she bubbled. “You are smart!”

 

                “Well… I think dance may be a bit like music, also. That, too, you can understand no matter what language you speak.”

 

                He thought to add more. But below them, the ramp upstairs was squeaking. The two of them looked toward the stairwell to see Jade, stamping upstairs with a laughing grimace.

 

                “Just _what_ is going on up here?” she chuckled. “For that matter, _why_ is it going on up here? You shouldn’t be up here, Yoa! And _you_ shouldn’t be encouraging her, Double H. It sounded like you were stomping all over the floorboards!”

 

                He chuckled sheepishly. “My apologies, Miss Jade. We got a bit carried away. Yoa wanted to show me a dance she made, and she didn’t want to disrupt the others. I… err, joined her. I suppose I didn’t really help, did I?”

 

                “No,” she laughed. “Next time you want to practice your tap dancing, you should _probably_ do it in daylight. Come on back down, you two. You can try out for the Hillyan Ballet tomorrow.”

 

                Yoa quickly snatched up her music player. With steady feet, they followed Jade back down. Those who’d been listening to the game looked darkly at them as they returned.

 

                Yoa returned to her corner, already seeking the next piece in her music library. Double H looked at the chilled cup of hot chocolate where he had once sat. He picked it up and slurped down the cool contents in one big gulp.

 

                Before Yoa could get lost in her music again, he fired off a question. “Say, Yoa. How many dances like that have you made?”

 

                She paused with an earbud partway to her head. She thought, though he could not tell if she was puzzling out numbers or words. “Every music… I make one,” she said. “But… that one… I make more. I… make more… ah… It is more… better? It…”

 

                “It’s the one you’ve worked the most on…?” Double H suggested.

 

                “…Yes,” she agreed. “Because… it is about the future. And… my family…”

 

                He sucked his lip quizzically. “You mean… this family? The Lighthouse?”

 

                “Yes,” she said. “The future.”

 

                “The future you hope for,” he said definitively.

 

                “Hope,” she said. It was as questioning as the music. “Hope, I think… hope is a word for, ‘I want.’ But the dance… it is the future I know.”

 

                He raised his eyebrows. “…You know the future?”

 

                “…Yes. Here, I do.” Her dark blue eyes were confidant.

 

                He slurped up the dregs of cocoa in the bottom of his mug. In his mind, Yoa and her ghostly company danced in front of the lighthouse. Victoriously, he held his partner up to the sky. From the way she’d handed herself off, he knew that there had been nine dancers. He knew who each stood for. And, in her mind, he was reasonably certain whom she’d pictured his partner as.

 

                _Like it or not, you’re at the center of this family now, Hub,_ he thought. _As much as Jade and Pey’j themselves. Kip’s little game earlier wasn’t, was it? The kids really do see you and Jade as… Well, considering what they’ve lost. It’s up to you whether or not you embrace it._

 

                “Maybe,” he said. “From the way you danced… maybe you do, Yoa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a fair number of changes to this one, though not as many as I expected. Nothing embarrasses a writer like their old descriptive writing. How overwrought can you do? Let's smash some records for purpleness! Aww yeah!


	5. Scraps

It was chilly down in the hangar.

 

                Heat sunk into the rain-slicked rocks. The ocean breathed out mist and the cave exhaled shadows. Most of the kids clung close to the space heater as they dressed themselves, especially during those few fretful seconds between shirts.

 

                Pey’j was clearly waiting for the sun to warm things up a bit. He leaned back in his work chair with an old blanket around his shoulders, with an even older, sweat-yellowed shirt across his chest. Always dressed, Secundo hovered near the holographic teleprojector. Double H stood uneasily next to him, jerking his arms back sharply when his elbows passed through Secundo’s.

 

                 Pey’j gave a long, shuddering yawn. “Thanks for comin’, Double H. Guess yer not makin’ breakfast for us this morning, huh? I’ll have to make my own omelet.”

 

                 “Not today, I’m afraid,” Double H said. He fought back the yawn Pey’j had given him. Wiping away the condensation clinging to his breastplate, he asked, “What was it you wanted from me, Chief?”

 

                “A favor,” he said. “The kind of favor ya ask of a person with biceps bigger’n your head.”

 

                Double H grumbled. “Hmm. I take it you need to move something heavy. What can I do for you?”

 

                Secundo’s illuminated fingers flew across the keyboard in front of the teleprojector. But the buttons went nowhere, and the screen jerked through windows independently. The AI brought up a list of e-mails. Double H diverted his eyes from the line of subjects, but he scanned the senders: various newsletters; Francis; Nouri; other members of IRIS; himself. This was Jade’s inbox. Secundo highlighted an e-mail from the Governor, sitting atop a long list of her other messages. He gestured to it as it opened.

 

                “Yade and the governor talked this morning, as soon as Yade woke. They have made plans for the lighthouse. Pey’j will help and lend the contractors _mucho_ tools.”

 

                “Yeah, and in case you haven’t noticed, _mucho_ tools are hidden under _mucho_ piles o’ junk,” Pey’j huffed. “This place was a disaster area even before those flagnammed Alphas came in and mucked it up. It’s time fer some spring cleanin’. I figure, so long as I got a man who can bench-press _me_ hangin’ around _,_ might as well get some use out of ‘im. Simplest mission you’re ever gonna get: Get the junk.” He jabbed behind him with his thumb. “Put the junk somewhere else. Preferably somewhere nobody’s gonna trip on it.”

 

                Double H peered around Pey’j’s ears. Directly behind him, on his workbench, was an old, oxidized heap of wires and knobs that may at one point have been a radio. Some of the buttons looked as if they were permanently affixed with rust. But the screen, though black, seemed to flicker and hum as if it yet had life.

 

                “10-4,” Double H affirmed, scratching his chin (which scratched back. He ought to shave sooner rather than later). “But—and not to offend, Chief—I’m afraid I can’t always tell the difference between your ‘junk’ and your projects.”

 

                Pey’j grinned knowingly. He swiveled his chair toward the door to his workshop. “PABLO! HEY, KIDDO! YOU READY YET?”

 

                Pablo jogged in as if he’d been lurking on the threshold, waiting to be called. His missing glasses and mismatched pajama pants debunked that theory, but even when he was unprepared, he looked prepared. He brushed up the thin ribbon of hair running down his scalp. “Almost, Uncle Pey’j,” he said. “I just need my glasses.”

 

                Pey’j whirled back to Double H. “I figured you’d need a little help. If I can break up your partnership with Jade for a few hours, he’ll be your compatriot and your guide. He knows what’s off limits—don’t you, kiddo?” Pablo nodded in agreement.

 

                “If you say so, Chief,” Double H shrugged. “But I’d like a little breakfast first.”

 

                Pablo nodded in agreement. “Breakfast first.”

 

**********

 

                The cloying taste of syrupy pancakes slowly began to dissolve from his mouth as he marched back across the damp grass. He’d set off toward the hangar as soon as he’d set his plate by the sink, going over its layout in his mind, attempting to discern the best place to lump all the scrap.

 

                Behind him, someone’s footsteps squished in the damp grass. He snap-looked behind him. Pablo froze while Double H stared.

 

                He gave the boy one of his typically asymmetrical grins, but turned back forward. Pablo did not comment. Double H checked over his shoulder once again, then a third time, but the boy did not falter as they crossed the small island.

 

                Double H opened the hangar door and carefully descended the damp steps. Pablo’s flat-soled shoes slapped into the puddles. As Double H stepped into the shadows, the chill in the sea cave sunk through his thick woolen tunic and cut into his arms. He looked back again—Pablo, with his loose pants and sleeveless shirt, pressed on through the droplets pinging his shoulders.

 

                Double H itched at his bristly chin. Pablo scratched at the tuft of ruddy hair on his own. Double H brushed a patch of mist off the front of his armor. Pablo removed his glasses and rubbed the moisture off them with the bottom of his shirt. His clothes rustled, his footsteps splashed, his lenses squeaked when he cleaned them, and even his breath whispered out in cold little puffs. But still, he stayed silent.  

 

                At the bottom of the steps, the cave began to heat up—the heater in the center of the floor was still on, radiating itself all throughout the hangar. Double H stopped next to it, and Pablo dutifully slowed. He accidentally kicked a pebble that clattered across the floor. 

 

                Double H looked at him, and realized he didn’t have anything to add to that noise.

 

                Pablo sniffed and brushed at his nose. Double H’s gaze slid over the top of Pablo’s arm. The boy was lanky, but not scrawny; he looked as if he was developing some reasonable musculature. Then Double H peered at to Pablo’s glasses. In contrast to the slick hairdo, untrimmed goatee, and casual outfit, the glasses seemed mismatched. The frames were thick, round, and the color of cheap wood stain. They fit with antique furniture, leather-bound books, and staid, white-bearded professors, holing up in their studies with a pipe after a lecture. In school, they were the kind of glasses that drew the name “four-eyes” like a drain.

 

                Pablo cleared his throat stickily. His voice sounded more like his glasses than like the rest of his appearance. “Where do you want to start?”

 

                Double H shuddered as if broken from a trance. “Uh… Well, truthfully, Pablo, I don’t know much about this hangar. Which part would you say is the most cluttered? We’ll start with the worst of it.”

 

                Pablo leaned up against the sweating walls. “Oh; Pey’j’s workshop itself, definitely. But the bench over by the hovercraft is a mess, too. Either way, you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

 

                Double H looked over the top of the heater to the desk. Beneath the jumble of tools and papers up top, twisted metal in every shape conceivable was piled underneath. Some of the pieces looked as though they joined together to make working devices. Others were full of the dents of abandoned ideas.

 

                “Maybe I _will_ start with the desk,” he said. “It’s closer and I won’t have to haul the scrap as far.” His eyes wandered off to the place the hovercraft was docked. “That pier isn’t too fragile, is it?”

 

                Pablo got down on his knees and stuck his head under the desk. “Nah. If the hovercraft’s charger doesn’t break it, nothing well.” His bare hands dove into the jagged, rusted mess and started dragging pieces of metal into the open. “You can move any of these things I’m pulling out, by the way.”

 

                The edges of the metal pieces were sharp enough to make Double H’s eyes water. He squinted. “…Are you sure you don’t want a pair of gloves for that, Pablo? Always wear appropriate protection for the situation.” Double H thumped his breast plate sonorously. “Carlson and Peeters, page 135.”

               

                “Thanks, but I know what I’m doing,” Pablo said. “Sorry, Carlson and Peeters.”

 

                Double H gave a knotted frown.

 

                With a shrug, he knelt and started work on the piles of metal. His muscles pulled under the weight of the heavy, aged scraps. At the base of the hovercraft charger, he started building a pile of trash. By the desk, Pablo pulled some things forward, and pushed others back. Dissonant scrapes echoed in the cave as metal drew against rock.

 

                One smaller heap turned out to be another gutted radio. Its front plating hung loose, dangling on a cluster of colored wires. Double H teased it away to peer at the innards. Solder polka-dotted the inside, mangling the circuit board. He thought he recognized one strange device welded near the top—Nino had several of them in the IRIS den for hopping and hiding frequencies.

 

                His heart popped as he realized: It had been used for the same purpose. This was where the Chief lived and worked. This was the true heart of IRIS.

 

                He marveled at the image of Pey’j in his head; he pictured the man sitting behind this very desk, Jade and the children safely asleep up in the lighthouse, speaking to him—he, Hub!—from the edge of the desk Pablo was now rooting under. His gaze went far beyond the walls, and would have continued for miles more if, underneath the metal screech, he hadn’t picked up a hidden whisper:

 

                “Ouch.”

 

                He blinked cleanly and looked down at Pablo. Grimacing, the boy sucked his thumb. Double H skimmed the scrap around him for the telltale spot of red. Amazingly, when he found it, it was the only red thing on its pipe—Pablo had miraculously cut himself on the cleanest thing beneath the bench.

 

                Double H swallowed loudly. “Pablo, I have to insist. You should be wearing gloves for your own safety. You know how dangerous it is to cut yourself on rusty metal—I hope.”

 

                “It’s not that bad,” he said stoically.

 

                “Let me see,” Double H requested. Slowly, Pablo presented his thumb. A bright red dome quickly formed on the edge of his finger. Pablo yanked it back to lick it away. The blood welled back, but not before Double H caught sight of the cut beneath. The line was small and shallow, but ragged.

 

                “Is there a first aid kit down here?”

 

                “One of the high shelves in Pey’j’s workshop,” Pablo said. “But I tell you—“

 

                Double H rose as quickly as he could manage and jogged into the workshop on the tail end of Pablo’s sentence. He swiped the white, plastic box from its spot as soon as he laid eyes on it. He let Secundo guard it while he dug around on the counters, looking for a pair of gloves with enough fingers for a _Homo sapiens._

The hangar clanked. Pablo was moving metal again. Double H sighed and rushed back out with the case in one hand and the gloves in another.

 

                Pablo’s wounded hand stayed pinned to his side, but the other moved in and out of the metal jungle with abandon.

 

                “Pablo?” The boy turned his head. “Come on. I want to at least give you a proper bandage.” Double H opened the kit on the ground in front of him. His own heavy gauntlets came off, and his bare hands dangled beneath his tunic’s long sleeves. He wet a cotton ball with antiseptic and beckoned Pablo closer.

 

                “It’s just a little cut. It’ll be OK.”

 

                “I’m not taking any chances.” Double H took his wrist. The frayed edges of his calluses brushed roughly against Pablo’s hand as he dabbed the disinfectant across it. Pablo bit his lip quietly.

 

                “…I could do this by myself, you know. I’m not helpless.”

 

                Wordlessly, Double H passed him a wrapped bandage. The waxy wrapper crinkled loudly, and Pablo twisted the adhesive around his thumbnail. “…Alright. You’re gonna make me wear the gloves too, aren’t you.”

 

                “I would prefer it if you did, yes.” He proffered them to Pablo. Pablo took them slowly, and his fingers crawled into them.

 

                “…I’m telling you, I know this hangar, though. I’m the only one allowed down here without an adult. And I’ve been down here plenty.”

 

                 After slipping back into his gauntlets, Double H delicately scooped up the offending piece of metal and transported it down the dock. “I can see why the Ch—uh, Pey’j wouldn’t want you kids down here by yourselves.”

 

                “He’s not happy about us sleeping down here, either. He’s really specific about nobody touching his stuff—well, except for me, and sometimes Fehn,” Pablo sniffed. “But there’s not enough space on the floor to be comfortable in the lighthouse. And the heater’s already down here from when Uncle Pey’j does work in the winter.”

 

                Double H thought back to his own sleeping bag, nestled tightly in the kitchen, with a guilty frown. “Hmm—do you and Fehn like machinery? Is that why he’s alright with you two?”

 

                “Nah.” Pablo shook his head. Patiently, he waited for Double H to cart off another armful before he continued. “I’m more into biology—plants and animals and that stuff—and you know Fehn already, seeing as you’re his new _favorite person.”_ Pablo chuckled saucily. Double H squinted at him, but the boy smiled. “We’ve just been here the longest, that’s all. Back when Mom and Dad were still… well, you know, Pey’j used to show off all his wacky inventions to us right around… here.” Pablo stood up and swept out an area with his hands.

 

                “You knew Pey’j and Jade before you came here?”

 

                “Our families were all friends,” Pablo said plainly. “Mine, Fehn’s and them. We both lost our parents close together—around the same time. That _was_ why they took us in—I mean, they weren’t the richest people in the world, and the place wasn’t even officially a shelter yet, so they didn’t have grants. Just… ‘Let’s look after them, for their parents’ sake.’”

 

                “And… how long ago was that?”

 

                Pablo screwed his face in thought. “About… Three years. We’ve been here a while.” Nonchalantly, he buried his shoulders back under the desk. With a few more tugs, he brought three more time-eaten contraptions to light. He stood up from the floor and leaned back into the table with an air of completion.

 

                Double H watched Pablo’s face not change while he ferried the last few broken machines to their resting place. The ring he’d made around the charger was uneven in both height and width. But even Pey’j would only have to watch his step to make it past; the way to the hovercraft was still mostly unobstructed. Provided that nobody tried to come through in packs of more than three.

 

                Pablo stood curtly against the desk. “We can move to the workshop now.” He slid himself off the edge. He swung his arms as he strode down the path to the shop, his gloves flapping against his thin wrists. Coolly, Double H followed.

 

                Pablo started before Double H made it around the bend. Small bolts and other assembly parts rattled in their boxes as Pablo pulled them down. One of his feet stayed on the floor, anchored only by the toe of his shoe. His other leg’s knee rested on the counter as he reached up high. His upper body rocked unstably.

 

                Double H sighed. “Pablo…”

 

                He got behind the boy and snatched a box of screws from the tips of his fingers. “Maybe you should just point out the things that need to be moved to me. I can reach them better than you can.”

 

                Pablo scattered several papers as he slithered down. “Come on. I was doing it! I’ve got good balance.”

 

                “You were shaking back and forth. Secundo? Are you still here? Don’t you agree with me?”

 

                “As always I am here, _Doble Aché,”_ Secundo’s voice said, streaming up from beside the holoprojector’s speakers. “But I did not see, I am afraid. I was too busy writing an e-mail. Lisa, she is a communications satellite! She does not like to be kept waiting!”

 

                When the clinking started again, Double H realized that he didn’t see, either. He took an old box full of broken tool parts out of Pablo’s reach. Distraught, Pablo’s head whipped around.

 

                “Double H…” he growled.

 

                “I’m sorry, Pablo, but I can’t have you getting hurt on my watch. Jade and the Chief would never forgive me! At the very least, be more careful so I don’t get yelled at!”

 

                 He crawled down stiffly. “…I’m telling you, I know this shop. I’m not in as much danger as you seem to think I am.”

 

                “Pablo…” Double H sucked in a deep breath. “If you… don’t like working with me…”

 

                Pablo pouted a little. He pointed listlessly at the shelf he’d been pulling from. “…All of those boxes are pretty much broken things Uncle Pey’j keeps for salvage. You can move all of them except the big one in back; those are the spare parts he might actually use. The builders might need some.”

 

                “…Pablo, I don’t mean to make you unhappy. If you would rather not help me with this, I can go talk to the Chi—Pey’j. I’m sure he can find some time to help me personally later today.”

 

                “…No,” he huffed. “I told Uncle Pey’j I’d help him, and I will. Also, that shelf you’re standing in front of—there’s some tools and stuff hidden behind those cans in front, but those have bolts and washers and stuff that’s still good in them. Just move it around some.”

 

                “Pablo, I’m not going to force you to do this. For once, I have a mission where the world _isn’t_ at stake. Unless the Chief is forcing _you_ —“

 

                “Yeah, well.” Pablo grumpily reached for a lower shelf and tugged down a disembodied motor. He made no comment about its state of usefulness. “Whether I like it or not isn’t really important. I promised Pey’j this morning.” His eyes trailed off to the rest of the workshop miscellany.

 

                Double H stuffed several smaller containers under his arms. He scanned Pablo’s side—the hairs on his arms stood up in row after row of goosebumps, and his untidy goatee was patchy on one side. Double H’s cheeks softened.

 

                He took the containers down to the junk pile and came back slowly. Pablo watched him from the bottom of his lenses. As soon as Double H stood full in front of him, he looked meaningfully at a disassembled tool kit strewn in front of the MDisk reader.

 

                Double H cleared his throat. “…You know, Pablo, you remind me a lot of a fellow I used to know in the army .”

 

                “…Yeah?”

 

                “Yep. New recruit. Even looked a little bit like you… he had a buzz cut instead of a Mohawk, and he had more of a thin beard than a goatee. But he had a nose sort of like yours, before it got broken. And he was lanky like you—had broad shoulders and not much more to his name.”

 

                “Yeah?—Uh, don’t actually move that one. Well, _move_ it, but don’t put it in with the junk. Put it in the back. There’s some glues in there for, like, wood and things.”

 

                “Duly noted, and thank you.” Double H slid the box back and selected another one. He held it up and Pablo noted it.

 

                “…So what about that guy?”

 

                “Ah, of course. He was quite a character, he was. Very hot-headed—he was one of those people who joined the army because he had an innate desire for _justice._ But he was also the most _stubborn_ person I’ve ever met. If he came in second in a sprint, he’d be out until the break of dawn running around the track until he was beating the base’s record times! Then he’d go to bed, sleep for an hour—in his uniform, of course—and be up for training as if nothing had happened. If he sprained an ankle—and a _bad_ sprain, mind you, not just a little twist—and the sergeant advised him to stop and see a medic, he’d keep on walking on until he was _commanded_ to stop.”

 

                Pablo cleared off the front of the desk, in front of Secundo’s usual spot. “Yeah? And how’s that remind you of me?”

 

                “Well, this fellow got in a _lot_ of trouble with his superiors for knowing better than they did. You might think it’s just me, reciting from Carlson and Peeters like I do, but in the Hillyan Army, they _all_ do that. Especially during training. And _this_ guy—he just couldn’t resist correcting the drill sergeants on the proper phrasing and context of passages, or bringing up obscure lines that might contradict something they’d said.” He crossed his arms with a reminiscent look. “Grudgingly, I think most of them respected his knowledge, and his dedication, but I certainly don’t think they _liked_ him. Everybody knew one day he was going to cross the line, and everybody wanted to know what would happen when he did—since, obviously, he _was_ talented, but a bit… wild. You know what _did_ happen to him, eventually?”

 

                Pablo grinned sardonically. “Let me take a wild guess here—he eventually quit the army, started calling himself Double H, and helped lead a rebellion against the DomZ?”

 

                Double H shuddered. He quickly gathered up the box of nails in his hand before it could fall. “Ah… um, very good, Pablo. You figured it out. How did you…?”

 

                Pablo pushed together a cluster of rusted old coffee cans. “Whenever an adult says ‘You remind me of this kid I used to know,’ they’re either talking about somebody they just made up, or themselves. When you got to ‘stubborn,’ I kinda figured.”

 

                “I suppose so,” Double H said sheepishly.

 

                Pablo gathered up the can collection in his own arms. He jogged on past Double H, ducked beneath the hanging, broken fan, and jangled out towards the junk heap. Curiously, Double H watched him go out and back.

 

                Puffing, Pablo jumped back into the shop. With a quick spin, he was back to leaning on the desk. He kicked something beneath it with the back of his heel.

 

                “Just so we’re clear on a couple things, I don’t hate you or anything,” Pablo said. “And I still know better than you. Which from your story, I guess, means I’m going to help save the world some day.”

 

                Double H chuckled. “If that’s what you want, then I hope so,” he said earnestly. “But for now I think you’d be better off helping me figure out what to clear out. You did seem adamant about keeping your promise.”

 

                Pablo sighed. “Yeah, yeah. _I got it._ You’re in on this too—don’t you start slacking, now.”

 

***********

 

                Standing in front of the tall pile of trash, Pey’j scratched his head. “Well, it’s not the _ideal_ place fer it—I was hopin’ for somewhere a little less in front’a my hovercraft—but I suppose it’ll do for now.”

 

                “You should look through it and see whatcha wanna keep,” Pablo suggested. “You could probably call in someone to haul the rest of it off. You could maybe get some money for that scrap, too.”

 

                “Oh, no doubt,” Pey’j said, brushing at the crust behind an ear. “I’ve been plannin’ ta do that fer years, really—suppose I just needed some incentive. Still—nice job, boys. I owe one to the both of ya.”

 

                “No prob,” Pablo said shortly, while, behind him, Double H chimed in, “Not a problem at all, Chief.” After staring at them a few seconds longer, Pey’j turned to the stack and started running his fingers over the heap. He waved behind him dismissively. Double H and Pablo turned and headed for the stairs, Pablo trailing shortly behind. Once again, the space between them was quiet, though Pey’j’s rummaging clattered up the background.

 

                At the door to the hangar, Pablo exhaled loudly. “Hey… Sorry for being kind of a grouch. Like I said—I don’t hate you or anything. I mean, I know you mean well.”

 

                “It’s alright, Pablo. No harm done. It is still early in the morning, after all.”

 

                “Yeah, but I think maybe I was being a little harsh on you. Sorry.”

 

                Double H leaned against the door button. The hangar gate slid open with a swift rumble. “Oh, I understand, Pablo. I was your age once, after all, and I was stubborn then, too. That’s what life’s like at—fourteen, right?”

 

                “Yeah, fourteen,” Pablo agreed. “But I mean—I probably should’ve trusted Jade. She kept saying you weren’t like the others, but it was sort of hard to believe her after the _rest_ of them.”

 

                Half in the shadow of the cave, Double H paused. “…The others?”

 

                “…Yeah,” Pablo said softly. “The others.”

 

The phrase drifted around like a bad stench. Pablo’s eyes clouded, lost inside memories that made his shoulders tense. “…The first time Fehn saw you through the window, he looked like he wanted to cry.”

 

                Double H stood flatly. Pablo edged around him into the overcast yard in front of the lighthouse. Visibly, he shivered, and he embraced his upper arms. The salty air shuddered along with him.

 

                “…I mean, he likes you now. But you’re not the first person he’s liked. Jade’s gotten over broken hearts before, no problem. But Fehn…”

 

                Double H put his hand on Pablo’s shoulder. The boy looked forlornly at the ground.

 

                “Pablo… I’m not here to break anyone’s heart. Not Jade’s, not Fehn’s, and not yours.”

 

                “…Give me time before I believe.”

 

                Double H let go, backed up, and let the boy walk on ahead. “Very well, Pablo,” he nodded. “Take all the time you need.” He crept toward the foot of the lighthouse, keeping his eyes off the area that was being repaired. “…I’m not going to force you to do this.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one changed less than I expected it too. I only really did cleanup--the more somber tone of this one ended up helping it hold up better in my eyes.


	6. The New Recruit

                For the first time in he couldn’t remember how long, Double H had free time.  

 

                He’d followed Pey’j’s orders and helped clean out the hangar with Pablo; now the man himself was rummaging through the carnage, figuring out if any of his old scraps were salvageable. He’d approached Jade, but she had no chores for him; the morning’s dishes were the only thing that needed to be done, but Kip swooped down over those and claimed the task. The lighthouse was in shambles, but it was at peace; it knew that its time was nigh, and it would be rebuilt enough to be truly habitable before long.

 

                So Jade dismissed him to do what he would. He wandered outside into the early, overcast afternoon. _Stand by for further instructions,_ the general commanded. And in the trenches, the soldiers shuffled back and forth, their feet growing hot with anticipation.

 

                Possibilities drifted through a wide space in his mind. He waved absentmindedly to Zaza as he passed her. _Well, you could—read a book,_ he said to himself. _But what book? Jade and the Chief lost most of theirs, and all you have with you is Carlson and Peeters—as if you hadn’t memorized it._ He sighed and scanned the yard; Yoa sat by the hill and swayed to the beat of her music player. _You could listen to some music… hmm; but I think Fehn’s using the radio inside. And I’ve heard everything stored on my SAC too many times to count._

 

                _I could always make a chore for myself,_ he sighed. Oumi spoke slowly to Yoa, asking about the music she was listening to. _No matter what Jade says, there’s always_ something _to be done around here. I could always… clean something._

He meandered along the high rock wall that jutted up out from the sea, twisting down the arch that lead to the island’s small peninsula. He couldn’t put a name to the tree that grew there, but it seemed to grant Jade supernatural peace and poise whenever she meditated beneath it.

 

                The shade the branches cast wasn’t of much use beneath the gray sky, but the trunk was good for propping himself up against. The wind ruffled his hair, and his gaze tripped out across the ocean. He saw Mammago Garage’s giant wrench sign spin lazily, and the shields of Canal City glowed. They loomed large enough, but the bay they sat across seemed unimaginably vast. The silvery waters rippled in the light breeze.

 

                The calm scene invited introspection. Perhaps it was more the ocean than the tree that drew Jade out here to meditate; something about the movement of water was itself like thinking. He breathed deeply.

 

                Then someone giggled irreverently.

 

                He snapped around. Furry white fingers gripped the edge of the tree’s tallest root. A pair of tiny horns just barely failed to blend in with their surroundings.

 

                Grinning widely, Double H scanned the area. “Hmm! _I wonder what that noise was?”_ The giggle came again. Double H suppressed a laugh as he turned back to the bay.

 

                The grass rustled and the air moved. _“Raaaaawr!”_ Someone small and fuzzy collided with his pant legs.

 

                He twisted around. Fehn clung to his torso with a begging hug. Double H toyed with Fehn’s unkempt fur and scratched behind his ears. “Hello, Fehn,” he said warmly. “Can I help you?”

 

                “I’m so _bored,_ Uncle H,” Fehn said as he stepped back. Double H righted himself to face the boy properly. “ _Please_ play with me? Jade’s talking with the Governor, and Pey’j is working downstairs, and so is Pablo, and Kip’s doing chores and the girls are doing _girly_ things,” he choked.

 

                Double H reached down and took the boy by his middle. With one smooth heft, he pulled the boy up and dropped him securely on his shoulders. Fehn came down with a gentle “Woah!” His bouncy feet rattled against Double H’s armor plate. “You’re in luck,” Double H chuckled. “I’m bored as well. What do you want to play?”

 

                “Um,” Fehn said. “I dunno. What do you think?”

 

                “Hmm… How about Fehn the Fantastic? I always enjoy getting to be a _ferocious monster._ ” He snarled good-naturedly. Fehn bobbed along on his shoulders.

 

                But the boy hummed. “Naaah,” he said. “It’s no fun if I can’t rescue somebody from you. And everyone else is too _busy_ to be your prisoner. And all the silverware is being washed, so your treasure hoard couldn’t be very big.”

 

                Double H pouted thoughtfully. “You’re right. A monster without a hostage or a hoard isn’t much of a monster at all.—Aha! But I could be a different _kind_ of monster! We could play Creature Keepers, and I could be your pet Creature.”

 

                “But _then_ we need someone else to battle with,” Fehn said matter-of-factly. He leaned on his elbows into Double H’s scalp.

 

                Double H winced and gently bucked him back. “Hmm… We could play a card game or a board game.”

 

                “But I don’t wanna _sit down,”_ Fehn complained. “I have too much _energy!_ Besides—we’d _still_ need more people! We have to think of something two people can play.”

 

                A spark of an idea caught in Double H’s mind. “Hmm… Here’s an idea for a game. Maybe I could be a sorcerer—a wizard. And you can be my apprentice! And I can teach you magical spells, and we can go…” He quickly peered into the grass at the base of the tree, where tiny flowers poked through the earth. “…hunt for mystic potion ingredients in the forest!”

 

                Fehn sat up suddenly. “Hey, yeah! I like that idea!” Suddenly, he went quiet. Double H waited for him to continue.

 

                Trepidation edged into Fehn’s voice when he did. “Only… maybe… you don’t have to be a wizard.”

 

                “Oh? Would you prefer maybe… a knight? Or a blacksmith?”

 

                “Yeah. A knight,” Fehn said. “…A real knight. Like you.”

 

                Double H looked up at him curiously. Fehn’s scarred nose hung over his face.

 

                “…Uncle H? D’you… do you think you could teach me about Carlson and Peeters?”

 

                Double H’s lips went flat. “Carlson and Peeters? I don’t think you’d want to learn about _that._ It’s a very big book, and a lot to learn! I’m sure it would bore you. _I_ find it interesting, but it’s a bit much for a little boy.”

 

                “No! It _is_ interesting! Really!” Fehn shifted anxiously. “When I’m a billy, I wanna protect people just like you do. And you’re so good at it ‘cuz you know Carlson and Peeters stuff, right? They taught you everything?”

 

                “Well, they taught me a _lot,_ Fehn, but sometimes—“

 

                “—Right!” Fehn interrupted. “So, if I start now—that’ll make me even better when I grow up, ‘cuz I’ll have lots of practice! _Puh-lllease,_ Uncle H?”

 

                Double H coughed roughly. “Are you absolutely _sure,_ Fehn? I warn you right now—it’s long, and very detailed, and a lot to remember. It’s hard work to memorize it.”

 

                “I _really_ wanna help people,” Fehn said. “I can handle it! _Please?”_

               

                Double H took Fehn to the shadow of the hill. With a deep sigh, he took the boy down from his shoulders and set him down at the base of the hump. “…Alright, I suppose. But tell me if I’m boring you. I don’t want you to get tired.”

 

                “I won’t!” Fehn said surely. “Don’t worry; I already know all the basics!” He picked up a nearby stick and waved it with certainty. “D.B.U.T.T.! And… W.W.T.A.O.! And… Um…”

 

                Double H pressed Fehn’s shoulder, guiding him into a sitting position. “Yes, of course. But that’s near the _end_ of the book. Page 823.” The recitation came automatically. “It’s good to know those sayings and be reminded of them, but you have to know the _rest_ of the book to really _understand_ them. So we’re going to start from the very beginning. Ahem. Let’s see…”

 

                His fingers hovered over his SAC, wondering if he should pull out his copy. Even if he had a physical edition on his hands at all his times, his mind carried all the essentials anyway. Instead, he folded his hands behind his back, and he started pacing back and forth.

 

                _When was the last time you addressed a new recruit?_ he asked himself. _IRIS has been your only army for years and years._

“A Hillyan soldier has a difficult job to do,” he paraphrased. “In a group, he or she is a cog. He or she must work as a part does in a machine, as part of unified whole. If parts of a machine begin to fail, the whole thing could come apart. Alone, however, he or she is a representative. Without any of their fellow soldiers around, they must stand in for the whole of the army, and demonstrate all of its strengths and greatest faculties.”

 

                “Oh, you definitely do _that,_ ” Fehn urged. “You’re the best soldier _ever,_ I bet.”

 

                Double H continued with a proud smile. “A Hillyan soldier is an icon of strength and stability,” he quoted. “He is a warrior, a guardian, a mentor, and the very idea of protection itself. He is a knight in shining armor for the interstellar age.” Fehn “oohed” appropriately

 

                Mentally, he flipped through the pages and skimmed over several more paragraphs of the glowingly idealistic introduction. “A Hillyan soldier has to be strong. So, there are several basic exercises he should follow on a regular basis.”

 

                “Yeah,” Fehn nodded. “I’ve seen you doing those in the morning.”

 

                “One of the most basic and important things for a soldier is upper body strength,” he said. “He or she needs to be able to carry a hammer-axe without faltering, and must be able to swing with impunity! So start with twenty push-ups!”

 

                “Yeah!” Fehn agreed energetically. He reclined against the side of the hill. Double H stopped pacing and stared at him.

 

                “…What?” Fehn wondered.

 

                “Well?” Double H said impishly. “Aren’t you going to do twenty push-ups?”

 

                “Wait, what?” Fehn started. “ _Now?”_

“Sure! Why not?” Double H asked. “You do want to be able to protect people, don’t you? I’m just telling you what’s written in Carlson and Peeters, after all.”

 

                “But—“ Fehn stood. “You didn’t tell me I’d have to do _exercise!_ Right _now!”_

“I warned you it was hard,” Double H said. “I suppose you don’t _have_ to do it right now, but if you want a head start like you said…”

 

                “No! I can do it!” Fehn threw himself into the damp grass. Little bits of weeds tangled themselves in his fur as he tried to situate himself. He stuck his arms out to the side, looking like a floundering, adolescent alligator as he tried to find his balance on his toes. His elbows wobbled as he pushed himself up with a grunt.

 

                He held himself there weakly for a moment before letting his arms give way. He belly-flopped back down with a muddy squish against the wet grass. The force knocked a heavy breath out of his mouth.

 

                “Good,” Double H chuckled. “Nineteen more, and then we can go for a run around the island. You like running around chasing me, so a little jog shouldn’t hurt you.”

 

                Fehn groaned. “…Um, Uncle H? Since… since I wasn’t ready to exercise yet, since I didn’t know, maybe we could start on this _tomorrow._ So I’d be more prepared.”

 

                Double H scratched his chin cheekily. “Gee; I don’t know. You seemed so eager _now._ Well, I suppose it’s good for you to learn _why_ you need to do something so you have the motivation to—“

 

                Fehn rustled back into a sitting position. “OK!”

 

                “—But! You should finish those push-ups anyway.”

 

                Fehn moaned. “ _Awww…”_ But Double H gave him a stern eye. A smile lurked below it, but Fehn grouchily eased himself back to the ground and put himself back against the earth. His limbs creaked as he shoved himself upward again, puffing and panting. Then he let gravity take him back down, and he readied himself for the next push.

 

                “Let yourself down slower,” Double H advised. “Control is important! You need to have the endurance to hold on!—There, that’s more like it,” he complimented. Shuddering like a weather vane, Fehn let himself down. Sweat showed through his fur. He went up and down in unsteady quakes.

 

                His arms slid out from beneath him at the bottom of the thirteenth push-up. “Ugh. I’m getting sore, Uncle H…”

 

                Double H bent over him. “Oh, come on! You’re almost three-fourths of the way there, and if you could do three-fourths of it, you can do all of it! Come on, Fehn, I believe in you! Up just once more! Down again!” Fehn pulled his jittery arms back in and slowly hefted himself upright.

 

                “That’s it!” he urged. “Up! Down! Up! Down!” Fehn swallowed heavily at the end of each. “Just a few more! You’re almost there, and then you can sit down. I promise. Up! Down! Up! Down!” Fehn seesawed himself awkwardly. “Up! Down! One more! _Up! Down!”_ Fehn fell at the end of the last with a thud.

 

                He laid his cheeks against the cold grass and breathed in the coolness. Double H put a hand on his back reassuringly. “You know, if you keep up with your exercises every morning, it only gets easier. Do it right, and soon, you’ll be able to do _fifty_ push-ups, one-handed, and then go for a run without a second look. It’s the truth, Fehn!”

 

                Swaying with soreness, Fehn rocked upright and delicately sat back down. He massaged his arms and his breath whistled loudly. “H-hey, Uncle H? When are we gonna get to the stuff like D.B.U.T.T. and all that?”

 

                “In due time,” Double H said. “So, if we can’t do exercises today, I suppose that leads us into our discussion of military roles and rankings. Now, before I left the army, I was a first lieutenant of the regular Hillyan forces—“

 

                Fehn fidgeted. “Um. Do… you think we could maybe skip that part, too? Y’know… just for now. When’s the part about… saving people and stuff?”

 

                “Well, after this part, there’s a chapter detailing military bases, their layout, and personnel. Then there’s a chapter detailing essential items, gear, and maintenance…”

 

                Fehn perked up. “Oh! You mean, like, your armor, your hammer-axe, and stuff? Yeah! Let’s do that one!”

 

                “Very well,” Double H agreed. “I suppose there’s no harm if we do things _slightly_ out of order.” He cleared his throat. He gestured to himself with both hands. “Now, as you’ve doubtless realized, I happen to wear a great deal of armor. While it may look unadorned on the surface,” he said, rattling his chest plate, “the mantle hides beneath it a complex network of nanomachines that power things such life support in dangerous situations, and constantly generate and repair its laser-proof coating.”

 

                Fehn’s eyes sparkled in awe.

 

                “…But, even without it, the chest plate and greaves are made up of over 100 pounds of solid Materite alloy!”

 

                Fehn’s eyes suddenly fell. And so did his chin, falling all the way down to his chest. “…100 _pounds?_ That’s more than _me!”_ he gaped. “Why d’you wear it all the time if it’s so _heavy?”_

“I need all the protection I can get,” he said. “And so do all the soldiers who stand guard in the city and fight against invaders. I can’t afford not too. Keep up with your exercises, and other strength-building activities, and you’ll barely notice it once you get your own set.” He eyed Fehn wisely.

 

                “…By the time I’ve grown up, they’ll make it lighter,” he sniffed.

 

                “You can only make something so light before you have to start sacrificing strength,” he said. “Don’t worry. Before the development of the SAC, soldiers had to carry all their gear with them in huge backpacks on their backs! That’s several hundred more pounds, right there! And often, this was in hostile climates.” Fehn’s expression when twisty and he smooshed his face into his palm.

 

                “Are you getting _bored,_ Fehn?” Double H teased. “I told you to tell me if you were getting bored! We can do something else if you’re not ready.”

 

                Fehn bolted back upright. He folded his legs and tossed his hands into his lap. His ears cocked intently. “No! I really am; I promise! What—what else do you use? What about your weapons? And your cool shield?”

 

                Double H’s voice wandered. “Well, there’s more to my inventory than just a sword and a shield! The chapter begins with the basic survival supplies. Water, for example, is an essential; before SACs, it was always recommended to take twice what you thought you needed, but those greatly expand carrying capacity to the point where Carlson and Peeters now recommends you take up to three times as much—“

 

                Fehn yawned loudly. He bit down on the end of it with a look of horror.

 

                “—I can stop now,” Double H said. Fehn’s face tightened. “We can go do something else. Just say the word, Fehn.”

 

                “No—I—I just, um.” Fehn’s eyes searched the back of his head. “I was just thinking about—you! I mean, _I’m_ not bored, but what about you? You have to just _stand_ up there and blab _on_ and _on_ about all this… _hard_ stuff. It can’t be very fun.”

 

                Double H smiled sincerely. “On the contrary,” he said. “Going over all this again… it’s quite nostalgic. Makes me remember being a new recruit in the army. And then I remember being a senior officer and _greeting_ newcomers. To be honest, I’m enjoying myself!”

 

                “…Oh,” Fehn mumbled. “Well, uh… Keep going, then. What else, then, that’s not the water…?” Fehn laid down on his stomach and rested his head on his arms. His legs kicked in the air.

 

                “Well, you’re going to need rations,” he said. “And a variety of tools—though many soldiers often joke that the T-Hammer is the only tool they ever need,” he chuckled. “First aid kits are a must, too. Although they are infinitely wise, Carlson and Peeters borrowed from an older handbook here: A.B.P.! Always Be Prepared!”

 

                A renewed sparkle fell over Fehn’s face. “A.B.P.!” he copied. “Always Be Prepared!”

 

                “…Of course, the chapter on first aid immediately follows this one,” Double H said sagely. “It’s important to properly treat wounds both so that their bearers can continue on, and so that they don’t get infected. Would you like me to teach you how to properly treat a laceration?”

 

                “Lassa-what?” Fehn asked innocently.

 

                “A deep cut,” Double H said. With a morbid smirk, he said, “The kind that’s big and disgusting and drips blood everywhere.”

 

                Fehn flinched back. “Eww,” he said. “That’s gross, Uncle H.”

 

                “Battles are often ‘gross,’” Double H said. He waved his finger like a teacher about to make a revelation to his class. “I’ve seen people lose their arms and legs in the heat of battle! I’ve seen deep punctures and slices. If you’d like, I could take off my armor and show you my scars—“

 

                As he sat up, Fehn pulled a face. “Uh… No thanks.” He ran his finger down the furrow in his nose, feeling the places beneath where the skin was puckered, and where the fur had never grown back in properly. “I’m… good for now. …Uh, how about more of that gear stuff?”

 

                Double H turned around. Fehn craned his neck up to try and see over his shoulder. Out of sight, Double H snickered conspiratorially at the tree.

 

                “Oh, but this is some of the most vitally important stuff of _all_ to learn! It’s always helpful. After all…” He paused dramatically. “You never know _what might happen…”_

“…Hmm?” Fehn wondered.

 

                “You never know when you might suddenly have a… SURPRISE MONSTER ATTACK!”

 

                Double H whirled around, baring his hands like claws. He roared and snarled, stamping his feet. His armor rattled like chitinous scales. His eyes blazed mischievously.

 

                Fehn hopped to his feet and snagged his stick. He brandished it bravely. “Ha-ha! Fall back, foul beast! You cannot defeat Fehn the Fantastic!”

 

                “No puny knight shall ever defeat me!” Double H bragged. He stormed toward Fehn, but the boy hopped back agilely. Though cornered against the hill, he swung his stick-sword with valor. Fehn laughed carelessly and smacked his weapon against Double H’s shoulder pad.

 

                He roared. “Arrg! You horrible knight! You’ve damaged one of my beautiful wings! I will make you pay… by stealing one of your proud horns!” He swiped at Fehn’s head, pinching one of his budding horns in his fingers.

 

                Fehn’s head swiveled and he broke free from Double H’s weak hold. “Ah-ha! Now you’ve fallen into my trap!” He dashed behind Double H and rattled the stick against his back.

 

                Dramatically, Double H howled. “Ahhhhhhg! My weak spot! How did you find it, you vile creature?” He slumped to the ground with rattles and thuds. “No! My vision… it… it’s going black… So dark! It’s all fading… my life is flashing before my eyes… Tell my monster-wife I love her… Oooh, what a world, what a world, what a wooorld!” He coughed heavily, closed his eyes, stuck out his tongue, and lay flat in the grass.

 

                Fehn put a foot on his back and triumphantly held his weapon aloft. “ _No one_ is a match for Fehn the Fantastic! Fear me and tremble, monster scum! For I have beaten—“

 

                “I strike from beyond the grave! Attaaaack!” Double H suddenly rolled out from beneath him and grabbed Fehn by the torso. He hefted him up, then set him down, stood, and swept him up again. They both laughed as he spun Fehn around. “I shake you, foul knight! _Rah!”_ Then he set him back down, his grin bubbling over.

 

                Fehn threw a hug around Double H’s torso. “…Maaaybe I’m still a little too young for Carlson and Peeters,” he said. His mouth twitched sheepishly. “But… I can still ask you when I’m older, right?” He looked askance up into Double H’s face.

 

                Double H patted him on the head. “Fehn, if you really want to help people, then you don’t need to ask Carlson and Peeters for advice,” he said. He stepped back from Fehn and stood in a flat-handed salute. “Do you want to know what you have to do, cadet?”

 

                Stumbling and tripping, Fehn copied his salute. “Yes, sir!”

 

                “Alright then!” Double H boomed. “One! Respect everyone, regardless of where they come from in life!”

 

                “Respect everyone! Sir, yes sir!”

 

                “Two! Always stand up for what you believe in, no matter what!”

 

                “Stand up for what you believe in! Sir, yes sir!”

 

                “Three! Be prepared to make sacrifices to help others, but know that whatever you’re giving up, you’re doing it for the greater good!”

 

                “Make sacrifices for the greater good! Sir, yes sir!”

 

                “Four! Be courageous, and if adversity strikes, rise against it no matter the odds!”

 

                “Courageous, _sir!_ ”

 

                “And five! Uh, five! Five—“

 

                An intelligent chuckle drifted warmly by. “How about, ‘Don’t Break Up The Team?’” Jade suggested. She tapped Fehn’s shoulders and made him look up. “Because your friends and family are the best help you have. They believe in you when you can’t believe in yourself, and it’s for them that you want to make the world a better place.”

 

                “Sounds good to me,” Double H agreed. “Number five—definitely, definitely, don’t break up the team. D.B.U.T.T.”

 

                “D.B.U.T.T.,” Fehn mimicked.

 

                “While you two were out here playing soldier, we got lunch ready,” Jade said. “If you two big tough guys wanna get something to eat, now would be the time. Hope you like spaghetti, because we made enough to weave a blanket.”

 

                “Can we have a few minutes to finish?” Fehn asked politely.

 

                “Sure,” she agreed. “Come inside whenever you’re ready. Spaghetti tastes just as good cold, after all.” She walked back into the lighthouse base, following the trail of cheerful lunchtime conversation. Even Pey’j passed by, covered in grease and flakes of rust. His nose twitched with satisfaction.

 

                Fehn watched him go by. Pey’j ambled by them and waddled into the door. Fehn stood still until Pey’j was safely embroiled in the chatter on the other side.

 

                Save for the ship’s horns and the waves, no one else was around. With one small giggle, Fehn pounced. He leapt for Double H’s chest plate, and Double H caught him. Fehn hugged the cold, unyielding metal with a dauntless smile.

 

                “Uncle H? …Don’t tell anybody else I said this, but… you’re my new favorite grown-up. But I don’t wanna make Jade and Uncle Pey’j jealous, so—“

 

                “Don’t worry,” Double H said, gently hugging back. “My lips are sealed. I like you a lot too, kiddo.”

 

                Fehn patted Double H’s armor before he gently let himself down. He shook out the residual soreness in his arms, then jogged to the entryway, following the smell of parmesan cheese and marinara sauce. Double H drifted after him.

 

                People were happy in the kitchen. Jade ladled tangled forkfuls of spaghetti on to everyone’s plates. Kip held his up emphatically when she tried to move away. Pey’j snuck an extra bite or two from the pot when she looked away. Fehn ran up behind her with a newly-clean blue plate in one hand, and a begging fork in the other.

 

                “Welcome home from boot camp, soldier,” she said. “Glad to see you came home safely. And look!” She pointed behind him at Double H. “You brought Uncle H back with you too. Did you work up an appetite on the field of battle?”

 

                Double H picked up a plate hungrily. “You bet I did!” he replied. Jade had left the scoop in the pot. He took it for himself and drowned his plate beneath a mound of spaghetti.

 

                “Come on, Fehn,” he beckoned. “Sit next to me, why don’t you?”

 

                “I get the other side!” Jade called. She pushed a rickety old chair into place across from him.

 

                “There’s more room by his feet!” Zaza shouted. She slipped out of her chair and took her plate with her to the ground. She sat by Double H’s feet with a self-satisfied _flump_ of her skirt and balanced her plate in her lap.

 

                “I get the other spot across,” Kip said. He dashed around the countertop, leaving his chair behind. He took up a spot near the sink.

 

                Yoa hummed and moved in beside Kip. Oumi edged in by Jade, pushing her plate around Jade’s arms. She reached awkwardly over her to eat, pausing between bites: “Hey, guess what, Uncle H?”

 

                “Were you and Fehn making up a new story, Uncle H?”

 

                “I make… new dance… with Oumi!”

 

                “I helped make the spaghetti!”

 

                “Hey! One at a time, kids,” Double H said.

 

                Pablo said nothing, but he chuckled.

 

                Jade bent close to speak directly to him. “Wow,” she remarked. “You’re a popular guy, ‘Hub.’” She elbowed him across the counter. “You’d think you really did just come home from a war… and I mean, just now; not in the past week.”

 

                Double H looked over the kitchen rowdiness almost wistfully. _War’s over, boys,_ the general commanded. _Your only order now is to go back home to your families._ Hub’s unreadable expression sparked.  

 

                “…You know, Jade, I think I just might have.”

 

                “…Hmm?” she wondered.

 

                But he slurped up a forkful of spaghetti, and did not answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly few changes here, too, though I did add a little bit more to the ending. 
> 
> This Tale is partially based on a true story. Like most little kids, I wanted to be an astronaut when I grew up--and my grandpa, being retired Air Force, managed to get his hands on an ACTUAL NASA astronaut instructional manual. It was DREADFULLY boring to me as a kid and made me really reconsider. Also, it taught me how horrifying astronaut toilets are. Brrr.

**Author's Note:**

> "Princess and Firemen" changed very little. Mostly it was just cleaning up overwrought old prose I wasn't happy with any more.


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